


In the Wolves' Den

by TheAmethystRiddle



Category: Destiny (Video Game)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-25
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2018-06-10 15:58:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 43,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6963418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheAmethystRiddle/pseuds/TheAmethystRiddle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last thing the Queen expected was to employ a member of the Vanguard in such close capacity. The last thing the Guardian expected was to find friends among an unwelcoming crowd. The last thing any of them expected was the betrayal that lay in wait.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. With Eyes Open

These days the Reef was swarming with Guardians, alone and in fireteams, wandering the outpost stalls and crowding around the Cryptarch. It was impossible to walk through the docking bay without bumping into someone’s outstretched arm as they talked to their Ghost, and harder still not to knock your head on some elaborate armor piece. The once desolate, ramshackle community at the edge of the system was now a bustling hub of commerce and combat alike.

This was equal parts nightmare and boon for Her Grace Mara Sov the Returned, reigning Queen of the Reef and its Outlying Territories, Kell of House of Wolves, Bastion against the Dark, and treasured ally of the Vanguard – though some of those embellishments were perhaps less than true. She liked to add a new title each time a Guardian came to curry favor, hoping to dissuade any few out of the hordes who wished an audience only to make awkward advances or dramatic declarations. Somehow the ceremony only seemed to encourage people, and it was this trivial but overwhelming matter that caused her to finally accept the Vanguard’s official request for an alliance – on one condition. They were to send an emissary to act as a bodyguard and handle all official interactions between Guardians and the Reef.

“Vet them well,” was all she had said to Ikora on the matter, the only of the three Vanguard heads that she had come to respect so far. She thought she heard a low laugh over the link, but Ikora’s response was as quiet and measured as ever.

“I am sure we can choose someone you will be comfortable with.”

That person was supposedly the Titan striding toward her throne now, almost outpacing the pair of guards escorting them. Even from here she could see that the Guardian, outfitted in pale blue armor, was taller and broader than her brother, who stood frowning at her arm. It was only when the click of boots on metal stopped as the Guardian halted in front of her that she realized how quiet their footsteps had been. It was unnerving.

“I would see your face,” she said, feigning disinterest. In truth she was almost unbearably curious about who the Vanguard had sent. Curious and more than a little bit wary. Not nervous. A queen did not get nervous, she said to the knot of anxiety in her stomach.

If she had expected something, it was certainly not the woman who emerged from the helmet’s drafts of decompression steam. A shock of deep red hair above brown skin and wide gray eyes. Strong cheekbones and a wide jaw gave her a noble look that transformed into something mischievous as a smile flitted across her lips. In an instant it was gone, and the woman snapped into a stiff and formal stance as if it was muscle memory. Back straight, helmet tucked under her arm, her mouth a tight line and her eyes staring into the darkness above the throne as she spoke up.

“Your Grace, I am the emissary sent by the Vanguard to assist you with the Reef’s official relations with our certified Guardians. Should you require it, I’m also equipped to act as a personal bodyguard and advisor.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary.” Uldren stepped forward, his teeth bared in a poor imitation of a smile. He had never been good at the acting games politics required. The Guardian shifted her gaze to him and the Queen raised her eyebrows ever so slightly. At the least this would serve as a first test.

“Sir, I respectfully submit that that’s not your decision. Her Grace can make use of my abilities as she sees fit. Of course, I’m sure your advice will be invaluable to that decision.” The Guardian’s blank expression never wavered, and when she was done speaking she returned her gaze to the darkness above them. Uldren’s eyes narrowed as he tried to find something to object to, but after a moment he stepped back to scowl by the Queen’s elbow once again.

She pursed her lips to stop a smile. It didn’t take heroic talent to outmaneuver her brother, but this was clearly no clueless freelancer. It seemed Ikora had not let her down.

“What is your name, Guardian?” The Guardian seemed to hesitate, her eyebrows dipping in what could be annoyance or could be distress.

“You can call me Emissary,” the woman said finally. “Or any title you prefer.”

“I’d prefer your name.” The eyebrows dipped again.

“Your Grace, I would consider it a great personal favor if you would oblige me.” Her eyes flicked down to meet the Queen’s, an unspoken plea on her face. Why this oddity was of such importance to this Guardian she did not know, but it would be unbecoming to push the matter.

“As you wish, Guardian. Emissary will do.”

“I very much appreciate Your Grace’s allowance.” Emissary bowed, deeper than was necessary. It was clear she understood that she had given the Queen an uncomfortable situation and wished to make up. And when she glanced up to smile again ever so briefly, the Queen found herself willing to give this Emissary a second chance.

“When can you begin your duties?” This was, of course, the most pressing matter. Getting Guardians out of her throne room.

“Immediately upon reviewing the procedures and speaking with any relevant officials. Tomorrow at the latest. I should also have a few suggestions for new systems to be put in place and changes to the existing systems, so if I could request an audience with Your Grace sometime soon I’d appreciate it.”

“Tomorrow. I will send for you. We’ll discuss your other duties then as well.”

“Of course, Your Grace.”

“Dismissed.”

Emissary bowed again and then turned on her heel with a click. Her steps were still alarmingly quiet as she exited and the Queen waved the guards out.

“I’d strongly advise against using her as anything other than a go-between, my queen,” Uldren said as she rose to leave. When he placed a hand on her arm she touched his fingers gently and then pulled away.

“Uldren, it’s not your decision. I won’t be moved by your jealousy.” With the room empty she felt the usual weight lift from her shoulders. Privacy allowed them to disagree.

“Jealousy?” he sputtered, looking scandalized. “I’m merely concerned for your safety, and I don’t think she should be trusted.”

They would fight about this all day, she knew, but she had made her decision. Now to see if she would regret it.

\--

“Fucking balls.” Emissary let out a deep breath as soon as the guards stepped out of earshot. Sweet-talking was her specialty, not so much political mumbo-jumbo.

“That’s more or less what political mumbo-jumbo is,” Cayde-6 had told her when she said as much to him. “Why do you think we’ve got you running around all the time?” But it certainly hadn’t felt like it had worked here.

“You did great,” said the voice in her earpiece. “Knocked it out of the park.”

“Thanks, Spark,” she muttered, tapping her Ghost’s shell where it was linked to her armor. “I’m sure that won’t be the last lie someone tells me here.”

“Doubt it was the first, either.”

The two-timing and acting went against her every instinct, but if there was one thing she was good at, it was learning the rules of a game and following them to her best advantage. Prince Uldren would be easy enough to play, and hopefully easy enough to tolerate. The Queen, though – she was something else. Savvy, cryptic, beautiful – which was irrelevant, of course, except in that looks were a powerful tool when used by the right person. And she was pretty sure the Queen was the right person.

Emissary was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t hear Spark’s question until it popped out of her armor to buzz in front of her and ask again.

“Where are we headed?”

“Over to the Outpost. We’re looking for Variks, Petra Venj, some fellow named Malik Con. Those are the names I got. Should all be out in the area accessible to the Guardians, so we can do some recon while we’re there. Get a feel for the culture.”

“’Do some recon’? This isn’t a battlefield.”

“You say that.” She set off toward the massive doors that separated the Queen’s Bay from the Outpost area at a quick walk. She was much happier traveling without having to slow down for a guard detail.

Emissary headed for Variks first, finding his odd little setup tucked away in a corner. He raised his staff in greeting to her as another Guardian jogged away.

“Perhaps I know you, Guardian?” he said, tilting his head.

“My team was the third to clear Skolas. Fireteam Antares. I’m not usually here with the helmet off.” She shifted her weight from one leg to the other. She knew she ought to trust Variks, but any Fallen made her nervous. Too much had happened on Earth to let go of that instinct.

“Ah, yes! With an Exo and an Earthborn.”

“Scout-13 and Tel Kassa, yes.” What she wouldn’t give to be back on the Moon on patrol with her friends right now.

“Yes, you are skilled, Guardian. What business do we have today, hm?”

“Official. I’m the emissary from the Vanguard, so I need your information on Guardian interactions, Prison procedures, that sort of thing. It can stay under your control; I just want to be aware of what’s going on over here so I can help address any problems.”

“Very good! You are well suited, I think. Come, I will speak with you a moment, yes? And get you all you need.”

She still wasn’t exactly comfortable as she walked away and headed for the platform where the woman known as the Queen’s Wrath stood, but Variks didn’t seem so bad. Just… strange. Very, very strange.

She eyed Petra up as she approached and stood behind a few Guardians turning in bounties. Somehow it seemed this whole cast of characters was meant to make her uneasy. The woman had gone a long way to repair the breach she caused during the Reef Wars, but she could hand bounties out for a hundred years and not atone for the deaths of those nine Guardians. A dramatic rescue mission led against the Taken had bought her the returned favor of the Queen, but Emissary wasn’t so easily swayed.

“Emissary.” Petra gave her a sharp nod. Apparently word had gotten around.

“You’re Paladin of the guard now, aren’t you? We need to talk about throne room protocol.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the protocols I’ve established,” she said with a frown.

“You let every 5-light clown with a ghost and hand-me-down armor walk right in there if they ask. I’d call that something wrong.”

“Then what do you suggest, Emissary?” The title was said with a sneer, and Emissary tried not to sigh. This wasn’t going to go smoothly.

“Paperwork followed by bureaucracy. Make them fill out forms and then put all of them in front of someone you don’t like. The runaround will last long enough for a lot of Guardians to lose interest or forget. The ones who stick with it we should probably kill. They’re the dangerous types.”

Petra snorted a laugh at the joke, and for a moment Emissary thought the woman might warm up to her at least a little. But a moment later the icy stare was back.

“I’ll see about implementing something. Don’t hold your breath.”

Emissary tapped Spark’s shell and closed her eyes in frustration. She took a deep breath before opening them again.

“At least start turning people away. I can’t stand at the door and pass out rain checks all day, and I won’t have any other way of doing my job if you can’t help me out. Just do me a favor, one soldier to another.”

Petra straightened a little and looked Emissary up and down. After a moment, she nodded.

“Fine. I’ll see what I can do about it. I can tell you now that these Guardians won’t be happy.”

“Send the blowback to me. I’ll have your back if anyone objects too strongly.” Not that she would try too hard at it. It seemed they could do their jobs together, but Emissary wasn’t planning on making friends here.

They exchanged nods farewell and then she headed for her last stop, a little tent that leaned up against one of the platform railings. Underneath the tarp, piles of paperwork were strewn across chairs, tables, and the ground, and as she came up to the table an equally disheveled Awoken man poked his head out from behind it.

“Malik Con?” she asked.

“Oh, fuck!” he said, standing and slamming a hand on the table. “It’s humans looking for Reefborn status now? Piss off, I have work to do.”

“I’m the Vanguard emissary. I’m here to help. Or at least try.”

“Oh, fuck,” he said again, this time with a tone of relief. He ran a hand through his dark hair, which looked even darker next to his almost white skin and eyes. “It’s just me here with every damn Earthborn petitioning for a Reefborn citizenship and I can’t keep up with the paperwork for shit. I don’t think I’ve finished a single application.”

“Sounds like someone read the same handbook you did,” Spark said in her ear.

“Is there really any chance these people could get status?” she asked, glancing over the piles of papers. Malik shrugged.

“Regular Earthborn? Doubt it. But there’s a lot of people who want the Reef to be able to claim some of these big name Guardians as our own. There’s plenty of support for trying to sway Zavala, of course, and people like Omegus and Kassa.” Emissary smiled for a second at the mention of her friend.

“I’ll try to find you more people, then. And I’ll move you out of here, that should help with the volume of incoming applications.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. Everybody in the damn system has already petitioned,” he said, rolling his eyes. Then he looked at her again, serious. “Thank you, though. Nobody else really wants to fuck with this. It’s a big mess.”

Emissary nodded. The poor guy was definitely in over his head. She gave a small salute as a goodbye and then headed out again, this time out to the hangar.

“How’s that for a day?” Spark asked as she pulled it out to call her ship.

“We’re not done yet. We’ve still got the rest of the Reef to see, more people to talk to, and then the real job starts. Shit, where am I sleeping? I have to find out where I’m sleeping.”

“Busy, busy,” Spark hummed, and then teleported up to the ship.

Busy was an understatement, Emissary thought to herself before the ship’s transmat caught her. She was beginning to think she’d be lucky to get out of this alive.


	2. Ebb and Flow

It was well into the afternoon before the Queen realized why she felt so restless. The throne room was silent, the endless streams of Guardians already halted by whatever actions her new Emissary had taken. For once she was able to address matters regarding her own people without interruption, and by the time she sent for her Emissary she had settled so firmly into a good mood that she almost smiled as the woman approached.

“Your report?” she asked, skipping with relief past the ceremonial gibberish she’d been forced to hide behind recently. Emissary gave a shallow bow and then pulled out a datapad tucked under her arm.

“Your Grace has probably noticed we’ve applied a temporary fix to the issue of Guardian intrusions. We should have a longer-term solution up soon. Guardian behavior has otherwise been mostly harmless barring the usual types jumping off ledges for fun. I have a few non-urgent administrative requests for you to approve, but other than that everything is looking smooth.” She stepped forward and held the datapad out, which Uldren stepped forward to take with a frown. It was only when the Queen beckoned that her brother handed the pad over with obvious reluctance.

“Good.” She glanced at the screen and then tucked it behind her on the throne. “Now to speak of your other duties.”

“As I said, I’m equipped to help in any reasonable capacity. If I may offer my opinion?” The Queen looked her over. She doubted Emissary’s suggestions would differ much from her own decisions, but it would be good for them to get into the habit of their upcoming roles. Not to mention she enjoyed the respect that contrasted so sharply with her brother’s usual audacity.

“Speak.”

“I’m best suited to advise you on matters concerning other Guardians and to protect you in situations involving members of the Vanguard, or in private. I’d likely do more harm than good in hearings with your own people, and you’re certainly not lacking in valuable counsel on those matters.” She bowed her head to Uldren, who stiffened but after a moment nodded back. The Queen hoped this was a sign of easing tension between the two of them.

“Then it shall be so. When you are not present here, you may pursue any other tasks you deem necessary.”

“Of course, Your Grace.” Emissary bowed rather more elaborately than was necessary, twirling a hand and flashing a smile that at least seemed genuine. The lightheartedness of the gesture was endearing.

“As there are clearly no Guardian visitors today, perhaps it would be best to let our new friend do other business,” Uldren said, plastering one of his terrible smiles across his face. The Queen frowned.

“No. I believe we shall give her a tour. A soldier must always know her battlefield, yes?” She tilted her head to Emissary, who bowed back.

“I’d much appreciate that, Your Grace. Prince, I look forward to your insights on any tactical matters.”

When Uldren simply frowned, the Queen crossed her arms, annoyed. Why did he insist on rebuffing someone who so clearly wished to make peace?

“This way, then, Emissary.” She rose and stepped off to the side of the throne dais toward the discreet exit that led into the royal sections of the Bays, Uldren close at her elbow. His concern was at least justified here, as she would be most vulnerable in private without her guard. She would let him cling for now.

“Ah, Your Grace?” The Queen turned at Emissary’s voice to see her jog up the steps to the throne before joining them. She held out the datapad for her to take with a smile. “I believe you forgot, Your Grace.”

Uldren snatched the pad away and this time the Queen let him take it, clenching her teeth to resist the flush of embarrassment that threatened to creep into her cheeks. What an insignificant, meaningless lapse. What a shameful nothing to slip up on only the second day with this Guardian.

“Thank you, Emissary,” she said coldly, turning again to lead her brother and the Guardian into the labyrinth of tunnels behind the throne room. This meant nothing. She would not be bothered. She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she noticed Emissary only when the woman was already by her ear.

“We are all fallible, Your Grace. Not to worry,” she whispered. She fell back again in an instant, leaving only the tingle of raised hairs on the Queen’s neck and arms. She thought to chastise Emissary for such a personal intrusion, but when she looked back the woman gave her a smile that struck the Queen sharply as the kindest, most genuine thing she had seen in many years. She looked away again, flustered but somehow reassured.

The Queen allowed her mind to wander as they traveled through the dim passageways of the compound in which the court lived. She had little interest in hearing again about all of the corners and doorways behind which threats might hide. Emissary pointed out each one, each time asking Uldren for his advice, and as she continued to not make any assassination attempts he warmed up to the exercise.

While the two of them discussed the merits and drawbacks of the rows of oxygen pumps that lined the lower halls, the Queen took her first opportunity to inspect Emissary more closely. She was much more animated now that they were no longer in a formal audience, her expression changing in seconds and her hands moving with every word. She lacked the war paint most Guardians sported, though as she turned her head the Queen saw a small tattoo on the side of her neck. A nautical star. In a moment it was again obscured by the edges of her armor.

Up close the Queen could tell for certain that she was taller than Uldren, and with her armor much bulkier as well. It was well-fitted, reliable Ithaca models with custom modifications, and though it was weathered it was polished to a shine. A hand cannon sat in the back holster, presumably her only weapon – though Guardians seemed capable of pulling guns from nowhere.

With the oxygen pumps debated, Uldren and Emissary were content to point and nod together as they noted the last few weak points on the tour. Their relationship seemed to have improved by miles as they headed up the stairs back to the main level, the two of them even exchanging nods farewell. The Queen beckoned for Emissary’s attention before she turned to go.

“Request an audience again when the Guardian matter is fully resolved. We will determine your schedule then.”

Emissary bowed and then straightened again to snap a salute before heading back toward the throne room. The Queen watched her go, deep in thought, and only roused herself when her brother tapped her shoulder with the datapad he still held.

“I am satisfied,” was all he said with a stiff nod in the direction of the departed Guardian.

“Is that approval, brother?” she asked with mock incredulity. He frowned and turned on his heel without a reply and she followed, a slight smile on her face. A working relationship between her advisors would do just fine, and she was sure now that she and her Emissary would get along well. Really, things were going even better than expected.

\--

Emissary managed to delay the shudder of discomfort until she was out of the Bay and in the crowds of the Outpost. The tunnels of the Queen’s Bay were tight, dark, and a tactical nightmare, and to top it off the Prince made her feel as though she needed to take a hot shower. Making nice wasn’t going to be fun, and it seemed like making nice would be all she was going to do. It was at least better than the cold opposition from before, which was what she could expect from Petra today as they worked through the Guardian audience procedures.

She held onto some hope all the way until she arrived at Petra’s station, where she was met by a glare.

“I have some more bounties to deal with, Emissary,” Petra said, though there was no one else around. “If you could wait a while.” Emissary gritted her teeth.

“Of course.”

She leaned against the rail and closed her eyes to take a deep breath. She couldn’t fathom what she had done to these people to get this kind of reception. She was just doing her job.

“The Awoken sure are a welcoming bunch,” Spark said in her ear.

“My thoughts exactly,” she muttered back.

Petra made her wait a full ten minutes before she leaned over to whisper to one of her soldiers and then headed over to stand, arms crossed, a few feet in front of Emissary.

“Let’s deal with this quickly,” she said. “I have administrative people on the paperwork side of things, which should be done soon if not already. I also have the in-court procedures in case of hostiles, which you asked for last night.” She gestured at a kiosk next to them and scowled as if the request had been a massive inconvenience. Emissary resisted the urge to scowl back and instead moved to glance over the notes and diagrams a soldier brought up for her. After a moment she shook her head.

“See, this is what I was afraid of. Your primary plan of action is just to knock them off the walkway. Sure, that’ll work for anything short of a charging Legionary, but a Guardian has the lift control to get back on the platform and even to aim an attack in the air. And you don’t have anything to deal with a Guardian who goes Super.” Though admittedly it would be difficult to plan for a flaming hammer.

“And I suppose you have better suggestions?” Petra looked ready to tell Emissary exactly what to do with her suggestions. Emissary sighed.

“Yes, I do. Petra, I’m here to help. I’m not the enemy.”

“But you’re not exactly an ally either, are you? You’re not one of us. You’ve done nothing but criticize how I do my job since you got here,” Petra snapped, pointing an angry finger at her. “I may work with the Vanguard, but that doesn’t mean I’m head over heels for the idea of one of you coming in and trying to take charge.”

“Sure, and I’m head over heels for the idea of getting buddy-buddy with a Guardian killer!” Emissary snapped back. Regret bubbled up from her stomach as soon as the words were out of her mouth, and she stepped back and closed her eyes in dismay. Petra was silent for a long moment.

“Is that what this is about?” she asked finally, and Emissary’s eyes flicked open.

“No. But I’m trying to correct the same problem now that you had then. You don’t know how Guardians act and I guarantee you’ve only scratched the surface of what many of us are capable of. Look, I’m not happy with this either, but I have a job and I can get it done without dwelling on differences. But that only works if you help me out. We want the same things on this, Petra.”

The plea hung between them as Petra inspected her face, the muscles in her jaw working as she clenched her teeth. Finally, she threw out her hands and shrugged.

“Fine. Show me these suggestions. If they look feasible, I’ll need you for a day or so to help with setting up training exercises.”

“Yes, of course.” Emissary breathed a sigh of relief as she stepped up to the terminal. She could make this work.

To her surprise, Petra approved of almost every one of her ideas and even helped talk through the ones she didn’t like. Emissary left on a high note, though she didn’t push any further than a stiff salute before she left. She was already halfway to Malik’s tent before she realized that the space it had occupied the day before was now empty.

“Typical,” she muttered. No one had told her about the move, despite the fact that she was now in charge of Malik’s mess of an operation. Was there anything that couldn’t go wrong?

She glanced around for anyone who looked like they might know anything. There was no floor manager or supervisor for the outpost, so her best bet was one of the vendors. Emissary sighed. What that really meant was that her best bet was probably Variks, who had been shooting her deliberate glances for the past few minutes. She jogged over to him, stopping just short of the carpet he stood on.

“Ah, Emissary! What can I do for you, hm?”

“I don’t suppose you know where they moved Malik Con and the citizenship petitions,” she said, scratching her head. “I wasn’t notified.”

“Doesn’t look so good for you, hm? An emissary out of the loop?” Variks ducked his head and leaned on his staff to look up at her.

“Yes, thank you, Variks. I can’t exactly help that people are shutting me out on purpose.” Her good mood from just minutes ago had evaporated. Petra was right, of course. She wasn’t one of them. They were all going to fight her every step of the way. Variks bobbed up and down a bit and then leaned back and nodded.

“Someone looking for Malik Con might be interested to know that he took his papers back to the storage room across the hangar, yes. Variks saw such a thing.” He waved with two of his arms toward the far edge, where a walkway stretched out to a lone door.

“Thank you. I really appreciate it.” She nodded and turned to go.

“Come see Variks sometime soon, Emissary. House of Judgment knows much, perhaps tells much too, yes?” He waved at her and Emissary hesitated a moment and then waved back. Having Variks as an ally would be better than nothing, she supposed. Though she wasn’t too sure on that.

The storage room was somehow even messier than the tent had been, and Emissary had to take care not to step on stray papers as she entered. Malik was scribbling something at an alarming rate and didn’t even glance up at her.

“No, we do not sell weapons, we do not sell armor, and I will not trade you a citizenship for Motes of Light or even Legendary Marks. Please go away, we’re fucking closed.”

Emissary cleared her throat and he jumped, finally looking up.

“Things going any better?” she asked, though she suspected she knew the answer.

“What do you think? I mean, a new place is great and all but it’s still just me and seven fucking million applications here.”

“Is that an exact number?” Emissary smiled at him and after a moment he laughed back and shook his head.

“You’re more cheerful than I am, I see.”

“Just glad to be working with somebody who doesn’t hate my guts. Who can I talk to? What can I do to help?” She looked over the stacks upon stacks of paper, what seemed like even more than yesterday. Seven fucking million might be an accurate estimation.

“Shit, I don’t know. We don’t exactly have an immigration department here. Want to read some applications? No? I don’t know, then.”

“Just hold out a while longer. I have a request in, so if there’s support like you say then we should be able to get you at least a few more people. Sorry, Malik.” The one person here who might be as lost as she was, and there was nothing she could do to help.

“Eh, it’s alright.” Malik waved a hand. “Just nice to know I’ve got somebody on my side.”

Emissary mulled this over as she headed back toward the doors into the Bay.

“It would be nice to have somebody on my side,” she said to herself with a sigh.

“You’ve got me,” Spark piped up, popping out of her armor to flit around her head.

“I sure do, buddy. I sure do.” But it didn’t feel like much with everything that was stacked against her. She hadn’t been so alone in a long time.


	3. Interjection

In the weeks after Emissary arrived, the court settled into a comfortable rhythm that was busy but no longer overwhelming. The Queen’s audiences with the Guardians resumed, but now she was able to address serious matters rather than field suitors and pranksters. Emissary stood at her elbow across from Uldren, still and silent as a pillar until the Queen beckoned to receive her whispered advice.

Emissary seemed to inspire varying levels of fear and comfort in the Guardians who visited, some of whom flinched at her stony expression and others of whom relaxed in the presence of another of their order. The Queen, for her part, grew to expect the woman at her side, to take comfort in the occasional moment when Emissary, shifting her weight to stretch between audiences, brushed against her or leaned into the space above her throne. There was something about the raw power and size of a Titan that made her feel untouchable.

Now, though, she found herself with a dilemma she had not expected. At the start she had hoped for a Guardian that treated her with indifference, a break from the overt affection of strangers. But for some reason she now wished for any spark of warmth from this woman. It seemed as if Emissary had grown even more implacable since she arrived, the momentary smiles and playful flourishes of her first days replaced by a stiff seriousness. Try as she might, the Queen could not think of any ploy to get her to open up that did not feel forced, so they continued in silence and she grew more dissatisfied each day.

Uldren, meanwhile, seemed determined to undo what little progress he and Emissary had made toward friendliness. He scowled and scoffed each time she offered advice and made snide comments during the rare quiet moments in the throne room. The Queen could not work out of him what objections he still harbored, as each time she asked he deflected the topic or slipped away.

So it was with animosity on one side and silence on the other that she started each day. This day too began like that, except that today in the silence she noticed the creaking of Emissary’s armor as she shifted her weight from foot to foot every few seconds. After several minutes of this uncharacteristic noise, the Queen turned to the Guardian with a sharp look.

“Emissary.” The woman snapped to attention, but behind her back her hands clenched and unclenched into fists. “What troubles you?”

“Not trouble, Your Grace. A member of my old fireteam is visiting today. I’m… excited to see an old friend.” The hesitation in her voice did not escape the Queen, and she cocked her head in curiosity.

“Is that so?” Her brother moved to speak with a frown, but she raised a quick hand to stop him. With luck, this would be her chance to break this dreadful silence.

“It’s been a long time, is all,” Emissary said, looking down at her boots. “I’m sure Your Grace understands.” She paused for a long moment, her eyes flicking up to meet the Queen’s and then away. “People change. People lose contact. Or choose not to contact. You never know.”

“I see.” She wished she knew what else to say.

“But anyway, I’m sorry to have bothered Your Grace. I’ll do my best in the future to keep my personal troubles to myself.”

“Oh, I am not bothered,” she said, perhaps too quickly, for Uldren shot her a sharp look. “I like to know my people.”

“Your people,” Emissary repeated, and then she broke into a grin, the first in many weeks. “Of course, Your Grace.”

The look was so sincere that the Queen could not help but smile back. Had that been all? She would make sure in the future to remind Emissary – her Emissary – where she belonged. Perhaps then they could become something like friends.

Uldren cleared his throat, interrupting the moment between them with the sour expression he wore so often lately. Emissary did not seem to mind, as she simply turned her grin to him.

“Are you coming down with a cough, Prince?” she asked with faux concern. “I would hate to lose the benefit of your input on my counsel to a cold.” Uldren stiffened with anger.

“Perhaps if your counsel was competent, it wouldn’t require my input.”

“Or perhaps if your ego wasn’t large enough to generate a gravitational pull, you wouldn’t feel the need to give your opinion on every matter.”

“My ego? My experience, Guardian, which unlike yours extends beyond pulling a trigger and crushing skulls.”

“Enough!” The Queen stood and both her advisors snapped to attention, shame on their faces. “Prince.” She shot him a glare and he looked away with clenched teeth. “Emissary.” The Guardian’s distant gaze did not waver, but a muscle twitched by her eye. “The next of you to engage in such petty arguments will be dismissed from my presence indefinitely. Is that clear?”

“Yes, my queen.”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Good.” She continued to stand until she could see them both getting uncomfortable, and when she sat back down she did so in the center of the throne, distancing herself from both of them. The barely concealed anger on Uldren’s face annoyed her – he should know better, after all – but the clear dismay on Emissary’s face roused a pang of regret. Perhaps she had been too harsh so soon after comforting her.

As she waved to the guard to allow in the first of her Guardian visitors, she leaned over to rest on the arm of the throne on Emissary’s side. The gesture did not go unnoticed by either of her advisors, as Uldren’s frown deepened and Emissary relaxed.

The day’s rulings went by almost in a blur as she watched Emissary intently to see which of the Guardians was the friend she was so anxious to see. As it happened, close attention turned out to be unnecessary; partway through the morning an Exo entered and immediately called out.

“Who’s that funny-looking Guardian?” they shouted, the lights in their face brightening with glee as they broke into a sprint toward the throne. The Queen barely had time to wave down her guard before Emissary had jumped down the steps and the two Guardians collided in a hug that echoed with a crack around the throne room. They swayed back and forth for a moment and then stepped back to look each other up and down. Emissary patted the Exo on the face and then turned back to the throne to bow deeply, grinning.

“My apologies for my conduct, Your Grace. My deepest apologies.” She still fought a smile as she straightened, and the Queen could not find it in herself to object to such obvious joy. With a small smile, she simply waved for Emissary to join her again.

“Your name and your business, Guardian,” she said once Emissary had resumed her usual position.

“Well, Your Gracefulness, I’m Scout-13 and what I would really like to do is poke around in Reef space. Do shit. Look at things.” They tucked their arms behind their back and nodded as if this was a perfectly acceptable answer. The Queen stared at them.

“And what does that entail?” Her Emissary kept strange company, it seemed.

“See, that’s hard to explain because the person I’m looking for is hard to explain. But I think she might be here, or she was here, or at least there’s a clue here or somewhere out here. I’m just a simple machine looking to do simple things and I’m not so good with words. Your advisor there can vouch for me.”

The Queen looked to Emissary, who knelt with an exasperated expression.

“They’re a good person and a powerful Guardian, Your Grace,” she said, tapping a finger on the side of the throne. “The likelihood that they’ll die or get injured is minimal and the likelihood that they’ll make any trouble… that is, the likelihood that they’ll do it intentionally is low. I just know that whatever this is, it’s important to them. I’d consider it a personal favor if you gave them permission.”

“If anything happens, you will accept full responsibility for it,” the Queen said after a moment of consideration.

“Of course, Your Grace.”

“Then you have my permission,” she said to Scout, waving a dismissal. Scout bowed, flicking their hand in the same flourish Emissary had done weeks ago. They then whirled on their heel and skipped out, the guards shifting their weapons and glaring as the Guardian left.

Emissary spent the next few hours restless, clearly eager to leave her duties and go see her friend, but the Queen refused to rush. Part of being hers meant that Emissary would work on the Queen’s time and at the Queen’s whim. This seemed to sink in only near the end of the day when she caught Emissary’s eye and shook her head with a finger pressed to her lips. The woman gave a slow nod in return and then settled into a firmer stance.

Though her brother fumed at her side – with jealousy, she was now sure – this felt right. Emissary’s smile as she bowed farewell was things as they should be, and the Queen smiled back as her Guardian jogged away.

\--

Emissary felt as though she might explode with emotion, so many thoughts and feelings whirling around in her head that she had to stop and take a deep breath after the throne room doors closed behind her. One the one hand – Scout’s arrival and the Queen’s new affection. On the other – Prince Uldren and her still-looming obligations. If she could just see Scout, she could make sense of some of this.

She began looking through the crowds as soon as there was the barest crack in the Outpost doors, ducking through the weekend Trials rush to look for Scout’s signature black and red paint job. She finally caught sight of them waving their arms in conversation, likely telling one of the tall tales that had spread about Fireteam Antares’s missions. Scout particularly liked to talk about the Black Garden. As she pushed through the crowd, she saw that their partner was Variks of all people, leaning against his staff with an expression she couldn’t fathom.

Of course. Variks. For the first week she had simply forgotten about his offer of cryptic advice, but for the past few she had avoided him, hoping he too would forget to bother her with whatever strange proposal of friendship he had planned. The tilt of his head as she approached gave her an idea he had not.

“And then of course there were about two hundred Vex around us at that point, with the other fireteam dead across the arena, and it’s only Tel left out of us who has any rockets. So at that point we just go ‘fuck it’ and Tel blasts a hole with that last shot – hey, kiddo – and we just Titan charge through that shit to rez the other team. Legendary.” Scout threw an arm around Emissary’s shoulders as they acknowledged her mid-sentence, punching her in the chest with a clang of metal meeting armor. Variks tapped his staff on the floor.

“I will give two old friends some privacy, yes? A Guardian is glad to relive such memories. Emissary, you will join me when you are done? We have much to talk about, hm.” He shuffled off to address the Guardians who had gathered at his stall as Scout dragged Emissary to a quiet nook by some cargo crates. Though an Exo’s face wasn’t quite capable of a smile, she could tell they were glad to see her. It felt good.

“Just giving old Uncle Variks there the usual yarn,” they said, clapping her on the shoulder. “But you – the queen’s favorite, I’d say, but maybe the prince’s least favorite so I’d estimate you come out at about half a point all things considered. And I got your message! All this secrecy – no names, that business – what are you up to? Just building a rep – which I can understand, I personally enjoy developing an aura of mystery in the places that I visit – or something darker? Moodier? Tragic backstory resurfacing?”

Emissary let out a deep sigh. Scout was her best friend, but they were also a mess who talked at a hundred miles an hour. The only one who could really keep up with them was Cayde, but Emissary could at least keep them on track.

“The queen’s favorite?” she asked, crossing her arms.

“Oh, come on. The smiles, the unnecessary bowing, you were in each other’s spaces, and I mean clearly she likes you better than her brother, which I would hope, though he certainly likes her a lot. I really didn’t want to think about that, but I guess I just did – do you think that’s why he spent so much time frowning at you? Uncomfortable.”

“Are you sure?” She hadn’t thought about it until today, until the Queen had said my people, but now she wanted more than anything to be sure – of what, she didn’t know.

“Well, I mean, I met him for thirty seconds but I’m sure it’s possible, I can’t say for sure – can we stop talking about this?”

“No, I mean – fuck, Scout, the queen’s favorite thing.”

“Oh! Well, shit, I mean – you sure are curious about it, kiddo. What’s your stake? Is the queen’s favorite’s favorite the queen? Hoping to get a taste of royalty? A chance to tilt the crown? My opinion is that if you keep smiling and bowing, maybe some kneeling – something chivalrous, not in a weird way – just play up that knight in shining armor and ideally don’t kill her brother. What was I saying? Oh, right, that you might get tenure and benefits. Benefits like kissing on the side, you read me?”

“Okay, it’s time for you to leave,” Emissary said, taking them by the shoulders and pushing them toward the hangar. Scout laughed and dug in their heels, fighting against her as she inched them across the floor. For a moment it felt like the old days again – the two of them goofing off, Tel lecturing them on proper Guardian behavior amid hails of gunfire. That prat. She loved him like a brother.

“Actually, I really should go,” Scout said, letting up their heels so that Emissary just barely caught her balance. “Places to do, things to see. Oh, Tel says hello, I think, although actually what he says is that if you don’t bring back his Hawkmoon he’ll Nova you so hard that you’ll come back inside out. But I woke him up so that might not be an accurate sentiment.”

“You’re impossible. When are you and Cayde going to run away together? We’ll all be glad to be rid of you both.”

“Right after I find my Stranger, friend. And then I’ll get my heart broken by Lakshmi and Cayde will be my settle relationship. Maybe we’ll become smugglers. That could be fun. I wonder if Ikora wants to come.” They tapped a finger on their chin in mock thoughtfulness.

“It’s good to know one of us has their life planned out.”

“You be safe, old friend,” Scout said, their tone suddenly serious. “There’s things happening here and elsewhere – just be safe. And I know you’ve got a stick up it about Fallen, but talk to Variks. He’s clever, for an old man, and I think he wants to help. The Light can only guess why, given how ugly and unpleasant you are.”

“Piss off, you painted-up maintenance frame.” But she was grinning again. “Keep in touch.”

“Unlikely.” They pointed fingerguns at her and then jogged for the edge of the Outpost platform, swan diving off as the transmat relocated them. There was a smattering of applause from some of the nearby Guardians. Emissary shook her head. Scout would always be something else.

With her friend gone, Emissary slumped against the cargo crates for just a moment. The fun part of her day was firmly over. Time to start the chores, beginning with a meeting that was weeks overdue.

Variks watched her expectantly as she trudged over to his stall, waving away another Guardian to turn to her as she approached.

“Finally, we can speak, hm?” he asked, leaning toward her. “You are clever – understand most things, now that you have spent time in the Kell Queen’s court. But there are some things only House of Judgment can tell, yes.”

“I’m listening.” She glanced over her shoulder. She hated the crowds of Guardians, but at least they kept her out of Petra’s sight. Their relationship had improved somewhat by necessity as they worked together on the protocol drills, but that was still a battle she didn’t want to risk today.

“No, no, we must exchange. Information for information, yes? A fair trade.”

“I won’t repeat anything I’ve heard in the Queen’s audiences and I won’t share anything that could compromise her safety,” she snapped, frowning at Variks. To her surprise, he laughed.

“A good answer, Emissary. No, it is not that I seek. A personal question instead – to satisfy my own curiosity. That is all I need from you.”

Emissary inspected his face. There was no way this could turn out well, but she couldn’t deny that information would be helpful. Intel was key, especially when she had to spend so much time one-upping the opposition.

“Fine.” She was regretting this already.

“Hm, good. The question, then – why do you hate me, Guardian?”

Emissary flinched, taken aback. Her embarrassment was compounded by confusion at the mischievous twinkle in Variks’s eyes as he leaned against his staff and watched her. She took a deep breath and tried to think carefully before she answered.

“I don’t hate you. There’s just a lot of Fallen on Earth who aren’t quite as nice as you are, Variks, and it’s hard to forget that I’ve spent my whole life as a Guardian fighting them.”

“Ah! So you fear me, then, yes?”

“No! I just – don’t trust you.” Not her finest admission, but Variks let out a sound she assumed was a laugh of some sort.

“There is the truth, I believe. But why? Do you distrust your Vanguard friends because there are Guardians who turn against their kind? Your Earthborn fellows because there are denizens of our Reef who reject you?”

“That’s different.”

“Is it? Think on it, Emissary. There will come a day when you need friends, and I would hope that day you count me among them, yes?”

“Why?” That was the question she couldn’t answer. Of all the people in the Reef to appoint themselves her confidante, it was Variks.

"Perhaps I value strong allies, hm? Strong allies who bring the disorder of change to the court. The Reef has been the same for a long time, Variks remembers. But then you came, a Guardian to breathe new life into a waning crown. Thanks to you, many of the strongest Vanguard bow to the Kell Queen. The court would do well to remember that.”

Emissary was silent, fighting the urge to look away as she mulled over Variks’s words. Self-interest was a motive she could certainly count on, even if she wasn’t about to call herself his friend.

“Alright,” she said finally, crossing her arms. “I believe you.”

“Good! Belief is the first step to trust, yes? I am pleased. Now, my exchange. A bit of knowledge of each of your allies – or your enemies. First, above all else the Prince is devoted to his queen. Petra, too, is devoted, but her heart is ruled by regret. Your dear friend Variks sees what others do not. And last – the Queen, who once smiled only rarely. Your old friend is perceptive, for a buffoon. What do you think, hm? Variks has laid out everything for you, very neatly.”

It didn’t seem neat to Emissary, whose mind was whirling even more now than when she had left the throne room. Variks’s cryptic clues seemed simple enough, but if he had gone to so much trouble she knew there must be something she was missing.

“Thank you. I’ll… think on this.” She turned to go, ready to be alone and able to process her day.

“Good, good. Thinking is good, yes? Emissary, one last favor.” Emissary turned back to look at him, and he tapped his chest with the clenched fist of his upper arm. “I am Eliksni. The ones who scavenge the ruins of your people, they are Fallen. But I am House of Judgment, and I will not fall. Will you honor this?”

“Yes, of course.” Friend or enemy, she could do that much. Her smile farewell was only a little forced.

She resisted the urge to sprint back to the Bay and the quiet of its dark halls, though each step she had to push through the crowd somehow made her infinitely more tired.

“I thought this job would get simpler,” Spark said in her ear.

“I at least thought it wouldn’t get more complicated.”

But perhaps despite everything – the slam of doors and the sudden dark of the entryway cut the thought short, but it lingered in the back of her mind for the rest of the day – she had found a place here where she belonged.


	4. The Fine Line

Though the court was moving smoothly and Emissary once again became cheerful as she had been in her early days, the Queen spent much of her time in court with a pit of discomfort nestled in her stomach. Somehow, despite now being forbidden to speak to or about each other on any subject, her advisors managed to escalate the tension between them with each day. Uldren seemed to take some kind of glee in instigating their half-concealed arguments, but for her part Emissary no longer tried to hide her anger or deflect his jabs with diplomacy.

At the very least they managed to stay composed during the audiences, fearing the Queen’s reprimand and her growing annoyance. They knew better than to risk making her look like a fool, but they came closer and closer to airing their differences in public with each spat. The Queen grew angrier each time she was forced to call them out. Though they both backed down at her word, the peace was only temporary. She could feel herself losing control.

When the moment came, it was somehow both expected and a shock.

Any lull in the traffic of Guardians boded ill for the fragile ceasefire she had found herself between, so when an appointment in the middle of the day turned out as a no-show, she braced herself to field another petty squabble. To her relief, Uldren stepped down the dais without acknowledging Emissary and beckoned to a guard. Perhaps he could keep himself busy long enough to reach the next audience without trouble.

“Do you have the current reports on outsiders in Reef space?” he asked. He did not need to speak up for his voice to reach them.

“Yes, Prince. There’s not much right now, as only a few are interested in anything other than the Prison or passing through to reach the Dreadnaught.”

“What of that Exo?” Emissary stiffened at his words. There was only one Exo Guardian currently in Reef space.

“Last sign was at 4 Vesta about three days ago. We think it’s around 2045 Peking for now, but we should ping for sure when it clears the magnesium cloud.”

“What is it up to? Recon?”

“Seems so. Looking for something, maybe. Its motives still aren’t clear.”

“If you’re going to gossip, at least treat them like a person.” Emissary’s voice rang out sharp and a little too loud. Though she had not moved, her jaw was clenched in barely contained anger. The guard glanced over, but Uldren ignored her.

“I hope it will return soon. It would be a shame if something happened to so esteemed a guest.”

Emissary’s head snapped around, her eyes dark.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked. Uldren turned to her with a false smile.

“Just that it’s very dangerous out there, Guardian. Things happen. An airstrike, maybe.”

Emissary moved with a speed that the Queen had never seen before, from the throne to Uldren in what seemed like one stride. Before any of them could react, she had lifted him by the throat and dangled him over the edge of the platform, her face a portrait of almost animalistic fury.

“You sick, pathetic little bastard – if you touch one wire, if I hear one rumor – you will be dead fifteen times over before you can plead guilty, do you fucking understand?” Her growl escalated to a roar as she took another step, holding him out further. The guards finally reacted, the nearest one lodging a gun under her chin, but with Uldren a flinch away from falling, they were at a stalemate.

“Emissary!” The Queen stood, the rage that had been building in her finally snapping loose. Several of the guards stepped back, glancing at her and steadying their weapons. Emissary, who had been shaking in anger, became eerily still. The Queen stared at her back, the force of her will permeating the entire room, and after a moment Emissary turned, tossing Uldren onto the steps of the dais like a rag doll. He scrambled to his feet and stumbled back to the throne, clutching his throat with one hand and his side with the other.

Emissary’s face was expressionless, her eyes empty and staring far beyond the throne into a place the Queen did not know. Though the guards still pointed their guns, the Queen could see that her shoulders had gone slack and the momentum had left her body.

"Leave. Now."

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Again Emissary moved with surprising speed, fleeing past the guards and out of the throne room into the darkness of the tunnel to the Outpost. There was only the glint of her armor, and then she was gone.

“You see?” Uldren said, his voice hoarse. “You see?”

“Cancel any Guardian appointments for the rest of the day. Court will resume to address domestic matters. Dismissed.” The Queen waved to the guard, who saluted as one and then marched out. As soon as the room was empty, she turned to Uldren, pulling his hand away from his throat to inspect the bruises that were forming.

“She’s dangerous, don’t you see? I told you.” He reached up to rub his throat again, but the Queen flicked his hand away and turned his head to see the wound in better light. That bruise looked like a thumb.

“Are you alright?” she asked, ignoring his accusation. She had no desire to address it now, not while he stumbled and leaned against the arm of the throne with a wince of pain.

“She would have killed me if you hadn’t stopped her. She would have thrown me off the edge.” He let out a low hiss as she pressed a hand to his side, feeling his ribs. “Nothing broken,” he said after a moment, his voice strained.

“Just bruised. Badly.” She shook her head, her brow furrowed. Emissary’s movements had been effortless and lightning fast. The Queen had underestimated the power of a Guardian, especially a Guardian wronged.

“She has to be dismissed.” She was sure she was imagining the strange gleam in Uldren’s eye.

“No.”

“What? She almost killed me! What little provocation would it take for her to do the same to you?”

But the Queen remembered the blank look on Emissary’s face, the way the woman had obeyed her voice and command without objection or question. She was not in the path of that animosity – it even seemed, in fact, that Emissary would halt that path to spare her. The problem was not there.

“You expected gentleness from a baited Guardian?” she asked, her voice sharp. This needed to stop, today.

“What?”

“Do you think me a fool, brother? Did you think I would be blind to such a ploy? That I would take your side without question and banish your imagined enemy?”

Uldren flinched, shame and anger surfacing on his face in turn.

“I only wished to-”

“Be quiet.” Uldren froze. “You acted like a child. You are a grown man and an advisor to the throne. Act like it.” She searched his face, hoping for any sign of repentance. After a moment, she spoke again in a low voice. “Uldren. I need you here with me. I need you both.”

She could not tell what he was thinking, but when she met his eyes he looked down and away, biting his lip.

“Yes, my queen. I understand,” he said after a long moment of silence.

“Good. Go, tend to your wounds. Rest. I will survive one day without you.”

He limped off, his eyes still downcast, and the Queen returned to the throne. She stared ahead, fighting the urge to hide her face in her hands. She would regain control of this. Uldren would come around for her sake. He had to. But she still had to deal with the Guardian.

\--

Emissary was still fuming with anger as she left the throne room, her hands clenched into fists so tight she felt her nails dig into the plasticloth of her gloves. The anger was now only half at Uldren and his threats, the other half at herself. She had fucked up big time. She’d lost her cool in the face of a pathetic nothing of a challenge and probably ruined everything. How was she going to explain this to the Vanguard?

“Really knocked that one out of the park,” Spark said, popping up to flit around her head. The echo of her first day wasn’t exactly welcome. “I can see the conversation with Zavala now – ‘Sorry, sir, but the Reef is banning all Guardians as a security risk. Yes, sir, it’s because I almost murdered the Queen’s brother. Sorry, sir.’”

“You forgot the part where Ikora has me assassinated before I ever get back to the Tower,” she said, her voice glum. They’d been counting on her and she’d failed. She’d failed the Vanguard and she’d failed the Queen. That knowledge sat like a stone on her chest, making it hard to breathe. Spark hovered in front of her, its eye blinking for a moment before it zipped around her again to rest on top of her head.

“I’m sure it’ll be okay. Maybe we can go back later and beg for forgiveness. That might work.” The effort did little to comfort her, but she appreciated it nonetheless.

However, she now faced the question of what to do for the rest of the day. She had a meeting with Petra in the afternoon to run protocol drills, but her premature dismissal would make her embarrassingly early if she left now. The last thing she needed right now was to be more embarrassed. After a moment of consideration, she headed out to the Outpost, hoping to blend into the crowds until she had to face her duties again.

As luck would have it, the Outpost was almost entirely empty. As the Bay doors thudded shut behind her, she felt as though every eye in the Reef was watching. One eye in particular – Petra’s. Emissary couldn’t pretend not to see her, so when Petra beckoned she sighed and trudged over, Spark zooming down from its perch to slot back into her armor.

“Out early, Emissary?” she asked, the tone of her voice betraying her knowledge. Gossip traveled fast through the Royal Guard.

“Don’t mock me,” she snapped. Did Petra want her here just to bait her? Wouldn’t the afternoon be time enough for that?

“Of course not. Wouldn’t want to take a tumble over the edge.” Her grin couldn’t possibly be friendly, but a moment later she laughed. “One hell of a fuck-up, Emissary. You lost me five hundred glimmer, you know. I thought you’d make it half a year before you tried to kill him. Would have lost me a thousand but I won a bet against you trying a professional assassination. Too sneaky for your type.”

“What do you want, Petra?”

“To give you some advice, actually.” She flipped her knife in her hand, but her eye stayed focused on Emissary’s face. “Give it the afternoon. Go back. Get on your knees. Don’t cry. Got it?” Emissary’s heart pounded in her chest. Maybe she could fix this.

“Yes.”

“Good. Let’s get lunch.”

Petra set off out of the Outpost toward the commercial area of the Bay at a quick march, and Emissary trailed behind, lost in thought. She’d forgotten that Petra, too, had fallen out of the Queen’s favor. But Emissary couldn’t tell if her advice was an offering of comradeship or just pity.

Petra led her to a noodle bar in the back corner of the food district, ducking behind the curtain to slide onto a stool and pat the seat next to her. She held up two fingers to the proprietor as Emissary joined her and rested her arms on the counter with a sigh. As the man set drinks in front of both of them, Petra turned to her with an odd expression.

“Can I ask you a question, Emissary?”

Emissary, remembering Variks and the questions he had asked, froze.

“Yes?” she said finally, avoiding eye contact.

“Why ‘Emissary’? Why all the secrecy? Doesn’t exactly make you approachable.”

This, at least, was not quite as difficult as Variks’s inquiries had been. Still, she sipped her drink for a moment as she tried to form a proper answer. A truthful answer, in exchange for Petra’s advice. A fair trade.

“I wanted a new start, I guess. I wanted to leave myself behind. Be someone else.” She trailed a finger through the condensation on her glass.

“Was the person you used to be that terrible?” When Emissary glanced up, Petra flashed her a grin. Emissary snorted a laugh.

“The person I used to be – that person belongs somewhere else. She belongs to other people. Have you ever lost something, but not really lost it? A friend that moves away, or a hobby you just stopped liking? Something that’s still there, but you can’t seem to reach it.”

Petra cocked her head, inspecting Emissary’s face. The bar owner slid bowls of noodles and broth in front of both of them, and Petra shoveled food into her mouth before answering.

“Go on,” was her muffled reply.

“That happened to – my whole life. Everything. My fireteam, my job. Something shifted and there wasn’t even a reason, no cosmic explanation for why everything was different. When I came out here, I thought maybe I could start over, and maybe that wouldn’t happen again. Maybe this new me could find a home that would stay.”

“But you’re still you.” Petra swallowed her mouthful and pointed a finger at her. “You must still be whoever that was. You going to eat those?” She moved her finger to point at a small bowl of vegetables Emissary hadn’t even noticed. She shrugged and pushed the bowl toward Petra, who took it and dumped the contents into her noodles with a happy grunt. Emissary watched her eat with an amused expression. This side of Petra reminded her of Scout, in a way.

“I guess I am. But if I’m still me, then how do I stop that from happening again? If I’m still the person that can happen to?” She finally picked a single noodle out of the bowl and tried it, finding to her surprise that it was good. It was really good.

“You don’t, I guess.” Petra looked thoughtful as she dredged the last of her noodles out of her bowl. “Anything can happen to anyone, and you never see it coming. You never see the mistakes or the bad luck until they’re on you. That’s the nature of it. You just keep going, if you can.”

“Pretty deep insight for an old soldier,” Emissary said, eating at a faster rate. She hadn’t realized she was so hungry.

“A good soldier only speaks from experience.”

Something in Petra’s voice made Emissary look up to meet her gaze, and they sat like that for a long moment until the stall owner slammed a check down between them. The feeling of it lifted but did not quite disappear as Emissary finished her food in record time and Petra inspected the check.

“I’ll get the tab,” she said as Emissary drank off the broth at the bottom of her bowl. “After all, I won five hundred glimmer today.”

“But you lost a thousand on top of that, didn’t you?” Emissary shook her head in confusion.

“Always look on the bright side, Emissary. Always look on the bright side. Want to go get started on those drills?”

Emissary spent the walk over thinking hard, only deciding on what to say when they had almost reached the training compound. All she had to offer was another echo, a memory of her first peace offering to the Reef.

“Petra.” When Emissary stopped, Petra did as well, turning to look at her. “We’re all fallible. Don’t worry.”

She moved quickly to jog past Petra into the compound and avoid whatever moment they might have been about to have. She wasn’t quite ready for that. Then again, two months ago she’d thought she wasn’t ready for forgiveness. Petra caught up to her and put a hand on her shoulder.

“Good luck later. I’d hate to see you go. Noodles taste much better with company.”

Petra’s words warred with Emissary’s anxiety as they spent the day on a new drill sequence, her body slipping into the routine of the sparring and her mind unfortunately free to wander. It was some consolation to know that someone was rooting for her, she thought as she approached the throne room. She had someone on her side – at least until the Queen came down against her favor.

The guard posted outside took one look at her and then slipped into the throne room, a frown showing through the gap in her mask. Not a good sign. Emissary stopped in front of the door and waited, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She tried to remember Petra’s advice, but when the guard came back through and waved her inside, it all fluttered away.

The walk up to the throne seemed impossibly long, the Queen’s gaze never once leaving her face as she came to a halt at the edge of the carpet. Uldren wasn’t at his usual place by the Queen’s side, and Emissary felt equal parts fear and relief. If she had actually killed him – well, that was the end of it. But if he was simply away and resting – it was that much easier to kneel in front of the throne without his haughty sneer pressing down on her.

“I am here to beg Your Grace’s pardon for my misconduct. My actions were a personal failure and I do not wish to have them reflected upon the Vanguard.” Her plea felt unfinished, but her throat had closed up and her mind was foggy. Suddenly Petra’s warning not to cry seemed much less silly. When she found the words, she had to clear her throat to keep her voice from cracking. “I am so sorry, my queen.”

Silence. Emissary didn’t dare look up from the floor to see the Queen’s expression. It stretched on for an eternity, until Emissary began to tremble. Finally, she heard the rustle of cloth as the Queen shifted on the throne.

“These are your conditions.”

It took Emissary a moment to realize what was expected of her, as she was suddenly dizzy with the prospect of redemption.

“Yes, my queen.”

“You will not look at him. You will not react to him. You will not speak to him except tomorrow when you will offer an apology. Each day, you will perform your official functions and then you will leave the throne room until such time as I offer my forgiveness. Is this clear?”

“Yes, my queen.”

“Good. Do you understand why I am giving you this chance?” Her tone was still ice cold, but it had softened, and this gave Emissary hope.

“No, my queen.”

“Because for a time I trusted you to act with restraint and wisdom in my court. I valued the advice of an experienced warrior. Show me that I was not wrong.”

"Of course, my queen. Thank – thank you.” This time she could not keep her voice from cracking.

“Dismissed.”

Emissary rose and hesitated before she turned.

“Your Grace? What about the Vanguard?” The Queen waved a dismissive hand.

“The Vanguard need not know. Reef business does not concern them.” She leveled a pointed gaze at Emissary. The implication was crystal clear.

“Yes, my queen. Yes.”

She bowed her way out, still trembling, but as soon as she was beyond the throne room doors she leapt into the air with a grin, the fear transforming into an almost unbearable glee. She had a second chance.

“That doesn’t look like a Guardian out of a job.” Petra stepped away from the wall to smirk at her, tucking her knife into its sheath just in time as Emissary tackled her in a hug. Petra patted her on the back and then pushed her away, clearing her throat. “Good.”

“Thank you, Petra,” Emissary said, her smile so wide it hurt her cheeks.

“For what, exactly?” Petra shook her head, but she was smiling too.

“For being on my side.”

Petra shrugged, pulling out her knife again to balance the blade on her finger.

“What are friends for?”


	5. Give Them the Runaround

Following the Queen’s reprimand, the throne room finally reached a tense but firm peace. Uldren accepted Emissary’s apology with surprising grace and from then on they ignored each other entirely. Though the Queen felt the occasional pang of loss when faced with Emissary’s once again stony demeanor, she knew the lesson must be learned. When she finally granted her forgiveness, Emissary would not forget the value of her favor again.

Still, each day the temptation grew stronger until the desire to see her Emissary return became almost overwhelming. The realization that this feeling – whatever it was – lay outside of her control sank her into a foul mood that hung over the court like a thundercloud, every moment wondering if lighting would strike.

Today she fidgeted in her throne, shifting back and forth to lean first toward one side and then the other. Each time she moved, the jilted advisor flinched or stiffened, perhaps wondering what they could have done wrong. Fearing that they would be the one to receive her looming ire. Though she knew it was petty, these small acts of power gave her a satisfaction that sustained her into the afternoon toward the end of her Guardian appointments.

Traffic was light for once, the appeals moving in and out with unusual speed. They finished the sessions early, and the queen had moved to wave Emissary out when she heard a strange rumble in the distance. They all heard it, the guards swiveling around to point guns at the door and Uldren and Emissary turning to look at each other for the first time, confusion and concern on their faces.

“Did you hear that?” Uldren asked. The question was unnecessary but it broke the anxious silence.

“Troop movements? That can’t be possible.” Emissary glanced at him again.

“No, you’re right. You’re right.” Uldren frowned and rested a hand on the holster of his gun. Emissary drew her own gun and held it at rest, and the two of them moved together to stand in front of the throne as they all watched the door. Waiting.

The first crack in the door was accompanied by a roar, a Fallen battle cry echoing back into the throngs that were already pushing through. The Queen barely had time to see the first Dregs charge before Emissary had grabbed her by the arm and pushed her behind the throne, already firing into the midst of the enemies swarming toward them. Dead Fallen collapsed across the walkway as the guards moved back frantically, and then the Queen was pressed against the back of the throne, her heart pounding, and could no longer see the battle that rang out behind her. Even the Wolves had not gotten this close to her. Who could this reckless House be?

Emissary’s heart was racing as she went through the familiar motions of aiming and firing, adrenaline coursing through her system. The Fallen coursed over the walkway, screeching and leaping over the bodies of their comrades. It had been too long since she’d seen a good fight, and she hadn’t realized until now how much she’d missed the feeling. Though she hated it, she and Uldren made a good team, moving with each other easily and reading each other’s signals. But there was something wrong about this battle that she couldn’t put her finger on. The Fallen were no longer rushing toward them but instead forming up in a row across the walkway, each downed warrior pushed aside and replaced. They weren’t even trying to reach the queen, and the tight formation seemed to be hiding-

“Get down!” Emissary yelled as she saw it, tackling Uldren to the steps and crouching over him him to block the heavy shots of the Servitor that had pushed to the front of the line. She aimed and unloaded the cylinder of her hand cannon into it, thirteen shots dead on, but somehow it wasn’t enough. The Servitor pressed forward, still firing, and Emissary fumbled with a clip. She knew she wouldn’t have time to reload before the already-sizzling shield of Light around her shattered. She knew she would lose everything again.

Uldren shoved an auto rifle against her chest and she moved on instinct, dropping her hand cannon and aiming the rifle to fire in one motion. The Servitor swerved and then exploded with a screech, chunks of metal clattering off the floor and spilling over the edge. She pointed the sights at the masses of Fallen, but they were already fleeing and she felled only a few before they reached the door and scattered. Her ears rang in the following silence, her body still alert and waiting for another attack. But there was nothing.

“You can get off of me at any time,” Uldren grunted, snapping her out of her trance. She scrambled to her feet and pulled him up with her, the two of them steadying each other. She offered the rifle back but he waved it away. “Keep it,” he said. “I’ll get another.”

“Oh, shit,” she hissed, suddenly remembering her own gun. She knelt to pick it up from the floor, groaning as the cylinder flopped uselessly on its pivot. The lock was broken. Even a gun built to take damage could only take so much. “Tel is going to kill me.” She shook her head and tucked the cannon back into her holster.

With the sounds of gunfire gone, the Queen emerged from behind the throne, maintaining with some difficulty an air of dignity. Both her advisors turned, their faces still tense from the heat of battle. It was a good look for her Emissary, she thought. A look that seemed natural and right. For a moment the panic of the situation was lost on her as she came to a sharp realization – even while she had spent so many months basking in the power of a Titan, she had not realized that the woman before her was truly a warrior.

“My queen, are you alright?”

“My queen, did they harm you?”

The two of them spoke at once, each hovering just beyond contact as if they still feared she would lash out. But this assault on her court had wiped all that away and replaced it with only a frantic beating heart and a reminder of her own mortality. She reached out to both of them to touch them each on the arm.

“I thank both of you,” she said, rewarding them with a tiny nod. “I am unhurt.” They both sighed in relief and beamed at her for a moment before they once again became serious, turning to each other with frowns.

“That was House of Exile,” Emissary said, crossing her arms.

“Out here?” Uldren shook his head. “What are they doing out here?”

“They’re desperate. They’re always desperate, and the Moon is a small place. Maybe they thought they could carve out another life here. Succeed where the Wolves didn’t. It’s hard to know with them.”

“We need reinforcements,” Uldren said, tapping his transmission earpiece to activate it. Emissary did the same, adjusting her earpiece as Spark floated up by her head to look for a signal. But as she flipped through to Petra’s frequency, there was only static.

“It’s the Servitors,” she said with a frown as Uldren took out his earpiece and inspected it, clearly having the same problem. “We’ve got no radio contact, local or long-distance. They must have taken in Wolves who knew the tactic after the House disbanded.”

“We still don’t have to do this alone.” He took an auto rifle from one of the guards and looked it over. “There are tens or hundreds of Guardians just outside. We can easily drive them off with numbers like those.”

Emissary covered her mouth with a hand and turned away, the rest of the room watching her expectantly. When she turned back, she did not look up from the floor.

“No, we can’t. There are no Guardians in the Reef.”

“What?” The word came as a chorus from all of them, even the Queen chiming in, her voice low and dangerous. Emissary flinched.

“We – I – cleared the Reef today. We received a threat and Petra and I thought it would be best just to shut down the Outpost until we had it identified. The audiences were the only Guardians present, and even those we cut down and then rushed in and out. Shit. Of all the days for this to happen.” She trailed off, turning away from them again. The shame was clear on her face and in her slumped shoulders. After a moment, Uldren spoke.

“No matter. The Reef withstood one Fallen attack, and we can repel another. You.” He pointed to one of the Royal Guard, who snapped to attention. “I want the Bay on lockdown. Those vermin will get no further than this. Go now.”

The guard bowed to Uldren and the Queen and then sprinted off down into the royal compound to relay the message. The other guard straightened as Uldren turned to her next, but Emissary spoke up first, turning with a dark look on her face.

“I need Variks in here. Now,” she growled. “Bring Petra too. Now!” The guard fled, and Emissary turned to stare out past the edge of the platform, still glaring. Uldren seemed almost afraid to approach her, while the Queen perched once again on her throne to look at her with an intent expression. Emissary was both in and out of her element now, and the Queen found it fascinating even amidst the chaos to watch her scramble for some measure of control. Perhaps if she did well, the Queen would even let her keep it.

The silence was tense as they waited, but soon the guard returned with Petra and Variks close behind.

“They’re in the Outpost, too,” Petra said, bowing low to the Queen and then turning immediately to Emissary. “Of all the days.”

“I need you and Variks with the Queen,” Emissary said as she waved Variks over as well. “You need to take her to a safe place.”

“What? No, I should be out there fighting!” Petra flung a hand out toward the Outpost. It was clear she too had missed the taste of battle.

“No. The Prince and I are going to be out there and I need to know the Queen is with people I trust. Variks won’t be able to protect her on his own, so that means both of you.”

“So send the Prince! He’ll be better at that than I am.”

“No, she’s right.” Uldren stepped forward. “You’re a soldier, Venj. There won’t be room out there for you to operate in a unit like you’re used to. Emissary and I have the most experience with working alone.”

Petra frowned but did not offer any more arguments, instead moving to stand by the Queen. Emissary turned to Variks.

“House of Judgment sees everything, right? You must know hidden ways through the Reef.”

“Yes, of course, Emissary.” Variks let out a thoughtful growl. “Where would you have me lead the Kell Queen?”

“The rest of the Bay is already on lockdown by now,” Uldren said, shaking his head. “It’ll have to be somewhere in the Outpost. Somewhere defensible.”

“I think I know just the place. Variks, you remember Malik?”

“Who could forget, hm?” Variks chuckled.

“He’s out past the hangar now, in a little room near the edge of the Outpost. The only way in is a walkway that can act as a choke point if they come after you. He’s probably still in there and hasn’t even noticed there’s Fallen all over the place. You can stay with him until the Prince and I come give the all clear.”

“Hm, a clever plan. Variks can do this, yes.” He, too, moved to stand by the Queen, passing his staff back and forth between his hands as he muttered to himself.

“You’ll go with them,” Uldren said to the remaining guard. “Come here, you’ll need the override instructions to engage the emergency lock on the door once you get there.”

As she joined him and they turned away to speak in low voices, Emissary stepped up to the Queen and put a hand on her shoulder. The touch was heavy and comforting, and the Queen relaxed despite everything. It felt like a promise that Emissary would keep her safe.

“Stay close with Variks and Petra, my queen,” Emissary said. “And I’ll see you soon. The Prince and I can handle this.”

The Queen glanced past Emissary to make sure Uldren’s back was still turned. Satisfied, she stood on her tiptoes to take Emissary by the chin and press a kiss to her cheek, letting the touch linger for perhaps a bit longer than was necessary. When she pulled back, she looked Emissary in the eye, her expression serious.

“You will come back to me,” she said, brushing her thumb over Emissary’s chin before letting go. Emissary grinned back at her, her face flushed.

“Yes, my queen.”

Uldren and the guard joined them again and they all paused to look around at each other. Emissary and Petra exchanged nods, as did Uldren and the Queen. Just as the silence was becoming anxious, Uldren turned abruptly to Emissary.

“We should go.” He turned back to the Queen and her escort. “Wait until we’ve gotten through to the Outpost and then head out. Good luck.”

With that, he and Emissary jogged out, disappearing into the eerily silent darkness past the throne room doors. The Queen watched them go, a knot twisting in her stomach. They would come back to her.

After the echoes of the slamming doors had quieted, Variks beckoned to the little group and shuffled off into a dark corner, suddenly disappearing into a solid wall. Petra and the guard hesitated until Variks poked his head out of a hole behind a loose hatch.

“This way, yes? You must trust Variks.” He ducked back in, and after a moment the rest of them followed, squeezing into the cramped space with some difficulty.

“Oh, I trust you, Variks. I just don’t trust… that,” Petra said, glancing past her feet at the mess of pipes that were the only barrier between them and a sheer drop. The guard mumbled her assent from the back of the line. Only the Queen stayed silent as she stared into the darkness ahead of them, watching for changes in the treacherous footing.

They inched forward, rounding one corner after another as Variks led them through an endless maze of passages. Just as it seemed as though they might be lost, he stopped abruptly and jabbed his staff at a small hatch above him.

“See? Variks has found the way, hm?”

The shift and click of the lock sounded deafening in the narrow space. For a heartbeat the Queen wondered whether it was really safety that lay above them or whether they would emerge to their doom.

But the only noise above them as Variks lifted the hatch was the skitter of falling papers and then the scrape of a chair being pushed back.

“Hey!” The voice above them was certainly not Fallen, and Variks chuckled as he climbed out of the hole. Somehow they had avoided danger.

“You are Malik Con, yes?” Variks said from above them. The Queen heard him tap his staff on the floor as Petra scrambled up and then turned to offer her a hand. She allowed Petra to pull her up and then stepped away to look around the room.

“What’s the meaning of – Your Grace? What – what? Oh, fuck.” The man named Malik ran an ink-stained hand through his dark hair.

“Language,” Petra snapped, glaring at him.

“Right, yes, sorry, Your Grace. And Your, uh, Wrathfulness. Oh, shit.” He looked around at them, his eyes wide. The Queen glanced him over, careful to keep her face blank. He certainly was an excitable one.

“Do not be so worried, Malik Con. Or perhaps do – we are here to seek refuge from a Fallen incursion,” Variks said. The guard, the last to climb up, slipped past them to open a control panel next to the door and begin pressing buttons.

“Just Malik is fine, but – what? You’re here to what? What are you doing?” He looked back and forth between Variks and the guard.

“Emissary was right. He hadn’t even noticed,” Petra said, shaking her head. “I can’t believe this.”

“Fallen? Emissary? What? Oh, fuck.” He slumped against the table, covering his eyes with a hand. Variks chuckled.

“We have much to explain. But for now, we are safe, yes? That is the important thing.”

“Your Grace,” Petra said and waved the Queen toward the single chair in the room. She moved to it and sat, quietly grateful for the moment’s respite.

As Malik began to ask rapid-fire questions of Variks and Petra, the Queen let out a sigh and closed her eyes. All that remained now was to wait.


	6. A Knife in the Dark

“Prince.” Emissary grabbed Uldren’s shoulder and he turned, glancing at her hand with a look of disdain. She pulled away, frowning back. Apparently they weren’t quite ready for friendliness.

“We don’t have much time. Speak already,” he said, checking his auto rifle. Emissary took a deep breath.

“I didn’t want to say this in front of the Queen, but I don’t think those Fallen are after her. I think they’re after you.”

Uldren looked up sharply.

“What? How do you know?”

“In the throne room – they weren’t trying to push forward to take the throne or chase the Queen. They were focusing fire on us – on you. That Servitor made straight for you. I don’t know what’s going on, but I think you’re the target.”

“So you decided the best course of action would be to take me into the middle of them?” He glared at her.

“I know you can take care of yourself. And I needed you out here helping me.”

Uldren grunted, still frowning, but didn’t seem too upset. He turned instead to the Bay doors and looked up at them.

“These won’t open again once they close behind us,” he said. The two of them looked at each other, holding their rifles tightly. There was no going back – it was win or die.

“Let’s get moving, then,” Emissary said, raising her rifle. Uldren nodded, and with a press of a button the doors hissed open. They both dropped into a crouch and moved through as quickly as possible.

The entryway was clear, but as Emissary did a visual sweep she saw heads, arms, guns, and legs sticking out just about everywhere around the Outpost. Uldren slammed the controls to close the doors as soon as they were both through, and they scrambled to take cover on either side of the archway that opened into the Outpost proper.

“What the hell is going on?” Uldren hissed, glancing around at what looked like an ambush in waiting. But despite their obvious entrance, the room was still quiet. Emissary poked her head out of cover to aim down sights, but she couldn’t find a clean shot.

“They’re waiting for something,” she said, ducking back into cover.

“For what?”

There was barely a beat of silence before a screech echoed through the Outpost and a gigantic Servitor, black and twitching with Taken energy, transmatted in. Four smaller Servitors surrounded it, darting in and out of sight behind it as the other Fallen took up the battle cry and began to fire on them, energy blasts slamming against the walls.

“I’m guessing for that!” Emissary shouted over the noise, grinning for a second when Uldren shot her an annoyed look. Serious again, she waved a hand toward the onslaught in front of them. “Crowd control first – that thing can’t fit through so we should be safe while we cull the numbers!”

Uldren nodded. He immediately poked his rifle through the doorway and began to fire across the Outpost, dropping the Dregs and Shanks that popped out of their cover with practiced ease. Emissary began to clear troops on the other side, shooting down swaths of enemies as they tried to advance. The gunfire never ceased for more than a moment to reload or toss a grenade, and the bursts of energy from shock rifles and Servitors continued to bombard them.

But no matter how many they killed, there seemed to always be more. Though the Taken Servitor hung back as Emissary had predicted, the waves of Fallen inched closer and closer, and Emissary soon found herself scrambling for her last few clips.

“This isn’t working!” Uldren shouted, dropping his empty auto rifle and drawing a sidearm. “We have to take down that Servitor and hope they scatter!”

“Hope isn’t a great battle plan!” Emissary shouted back, loading her last clip. But she knew he was right.

“You have something better?”

“Nope! Hope it is! Ready to see a Guardian do real work, Prince?”

Emissary tossed Uldren her rifle and then stepped directly into the line of fire, her Light shield hissing and popping around her. She barely noticed Uldren pull back in shock as she took a deep breath and concentrated on the Light deep within her, pulling out every ounce of her power.

She stepped through the archway and swept her hands out to either side, a wall of crackling Arc energy spanning between them. The massive shield stretched above her head and out around her sides, a pale blue quarter sphere that only seemed to grow brighter as it absorbed the gunfire. She pulled off her right armpiece, baring her arm up to the elbow, and then pressed her forearm against the shield. With a hiss the Arc energy flowed over her skin, locking her arm in place.

She braced and took an experimental step forward, pushing the shield with her. It was heavy as usual, but she could bear it. How long she could sustain it, however, she didn’t know.

“What the hell?” Uldren yelled, his eyes wide. Emissary didn’t have time to field frequently asked questions.

“I move forward, you follow behind! As soon as we get close you have to unload everything and hit as hard as possible! I’ll maintain as long as I can, but we’ve only got a few minutes at best before it drops and we’re Void dust if we haven’t won!”

Uldren nodded and then tightened his grip on his gun and waved her forward. With a deep breath, Emissary leaned into the shield and pushed it down the walkway, the bottom edge sparking as it scraped against the metal. Uldren pressed behind her, firing sparse shots at the Fallen on either side of them. The Taken Servitor swooped back and forth in front of them, backing up for a moment before rushing forward to meet them, the smaller Servitors following behind.

As soon as the Servitors got near the shield, bolts of Arc energy snapped out to shock them. The smaller ones teleported backwards with panicked screeches, but the Taken Servitor hung in place in front of them. Uldren poked the barrel of the rifle around the shield and unloaded the rest of the final clip into its eye, and it finally moved, screeching as well and teleporting left and right in a panic. He dropped the empty rifle and pulled his knife, tossing it directly into the center of the eye, and then drew his sidearm and resumed firing.

Emissary pushed forward, chasing the Servitors with the bolts of energy. She paused to toss a grenade over the top of the shield and glance around at the situation. They were taking heavy fire on their flanks. The shield just barely curved far enough around to cover them, but Fallen were already shifting to get behind them and soon they would be exposed.

“To the left!” Uldren shouted, and she did as he asked on instinct. She would have to trust him to have a plan.

As they reached the railing, Uldren dove for a stack of junk and began rolling out metal spheres, three in total. Emissary didn’t have time to look at them closely, as the Servitors were charging again. The smaller ones were firing their energy blasts again, but the Taken one began emitting an ominous glow, the air hissing around it as it gathered power.

“What are those?” she yelled, backing up toward the rail.

“Can that shield push these?” he yelled back, ignoring her question.

“Sure, why not!” Her shield was heavier and more solid than a Void shield, so it was able to interact with non-projectile objects. She still wasn’t sure what Uldren was planning, but anything was worth a shot at this point.

“When I say go, move toward them as fast as you can!”

Emissary braced to charge, watching the Servitor flit forward, its eye pulsing. Her shield was beginning to fray at the edges. They probably only had a few seconds before something very bad happened.

Uldren shoved the spheres in front of the shield, but as he rolled the last one over a bolt of Arc energy lashed out at him, knocking him back.

“Uldren!” Emissary shouted.

“Go!”

She didn’t have time to hesitate on the order; the Taken Servitor was drawing very near and the spheres in front of her had begun to glow a dangerous red as the shield’s energy crackled over them. With a roar of effort, she charged forward, the spheres rolling and bouncing in front of her. As lightning snapped out, able to reach the Servitors again, the spheres began to flash and shake.

All three of them exploded at once, the force of the blast knocking Emissary backwards onto the ground. Four screeches echoed through the Outpost as the smaller Servitors shook and then exploded as well. The Taken one rose for a moment, its eye looking upward, and then it collapsed in on itself, vanishing into a pinprick of Darkness and disappearing.

The other Fallen froze around them, shocked, but Emissary was already moving again, scrambling across the floor and dragging her much-diminished shield along with her. She lunged for Uldren and pulled the remainder of it over both of them as the Fallen began moving again, screeching and directing cover fire as they fled, climbing into the walls and transmatting en masse back to their skiffs.

Emissary waited in the silence for a moment before she let the shield drop with a sigh of relief. She felt drained and exhausted, but she turned to Uldren as soon as the energy had dissipated. He lay half curled up on the floor with a grimace of pain on his face and his hand pressed to a jagged tear in his armor. Through his fingers she could see the pink mark of a burn.

“Are you- ?”

“First aid kit. Back pouch,” he said through clenched teeth before she could finish. Emissary reached over him to grab the kit from the pouch, laying out the burn treatment materials. She pushed Uldren’s hand away and then tore the rip in his armor open wider to expose the burn, apply the ointment, and then bandage it with expert swiftness. Uldren grunted his thanks and then waved her away, still grimacing. It would take a moment for the medicine and the painkillers to kick in.

Emissary stood, stumbling a little, and began to search the room for ammo, digging through the bodies to look for the white gleam of Glimmer with conversion potential. Her body moved automatically as Spark zipped around her and transformed the drops into clips. She picked up the items they had discarded along the way, tucking both of the rifles under her arm and pulling her gauntlet back on.

As Emissary headed back to check on Uldren, she noticed his knife laying on the ground where the Taken Servitor had disappeared. She knelt to pick that up as well, but as she touched the handle a wave of nausea washed over her. Somehow it felt cold even through her gloves. She tried to shake the feeling, but fear twisted in her stomach and a shiver ran down her spine. She held it out in front of her and moved quickly to Uldren, who was standing up with some difficulty.

“Funny knife you’ve got there,” she said, handing it back to him and then stepping away. She passed him a rifle and ammo at arm’s length.

“It’s custom work,” he said, sheathing it. “Did you like my trick with the deactivated Servitors?”

“Is that what those were? That was one hell of a blast.”

“Some of them have been laying around since the Reef Wars. We can’t figure out how to disable the explosion reaction without setting it off. Glad you could put them to good use.”

“Glad you had the idea. That was clever.”

“Oh, don’t discredit yourself, Emissary,” he said, smiling at her. “You’re quite the hero. Noble, to boot.”

“What do you mean?” Emissary said, frowning back. There was something off about his smile, something too sharp and too tight.

“Insisting I fight by your side even after all our squabbling, and even protecting me after you tried to kill me. Such an admirable effort to put our differences aside.”

“I just don’t like to see people hurt. And I couldn’t go back and face the Queen if something happened to you and I could have stopped it. You’re too important to her.” Emissary turned away to continue to search for ammo, eager to get away from Uldren’s strange knife and stranger expression.

“Hm, I suppose so. Such a shame.”

“What?”

Before she could turn to look, she felt him grab the neck of her armor and pull her back. Something sharp and ice cold and awful plunged into her right shoulder, and she screamed in pain as she toppled over backwards. The waves of nausea returned, and the wound in her shoulder burned and ached and stung all at once. Uldren’s knife. His repulsive knife. Her vision began to blur as she struggled to sit up, but her arm had gone slack and unresponsive. 

“Such a shame that all your noble efforts went to waste.” Uldren crouched next to her, his mouth stretched wide in something that was and wasn’t a smile. “You see, no one will ever know that you worked so hard to patch things up. Would you like to know why?”

“Why?” Her voice was a hoarse whisper, the best she could manage. Uldren leaned closer as she finally sat up, cradling her arm in her lap.

“Because when I return to my Queen, alone and wounded, I will have a tragic story to tell. The Fallen were here to kill me, of all people! They were here to kill me because you, in your murderous rage and jealousy, gave them the tools and information to do it. But when the cunning Prince Uldren survived the firefight, you couldn’t stand to see me alive and tried to kill me yourself! Thank you for that, by the way.” He gestured at his wounded side, still wearing his eerie grin. “I outsmarted you, but in defending myself I accidentally killed you. You will die a traitor and a disgrace, Guardian. How does that feel?”

Emissary’s eyelids fluttered as she tried to muster her strength. It felt as though all her energy was bleeding out past the blade still embedded in her back, and her fingers were beginning to go numb. But she couldn’t die here, not now. Not like this.

“Shame,” she whispered, looking up at Uldren with a smile of her own. His grin disappeared, replaced by confusion and anger.

“What?”

“Best laid plans. All that.” With a strength she dredged up from deeper in herself than she had ever had to reach before, she leaned back and then headbutted Uldren as hard as she could. He tumbled backward and collapsed on the floor, unconscious. Emissary chuckled weakly. That was probably the most Scout-like thing she had ever done in her life.

She laid back, exhaustion weighing heavy on her eyes. She’d thought she was tired before, but this was an extreme she’d never reached. Death seemed a reasonable solution.

A knocking against her skull made her open her eyes, and she turned her head with great difficulty to find Spark flinging itself against her, saying something she could not understand. She concentrated as hard as she could until the words became clear.

“No, no, no! Eyes up, Guardian! Eyes up! Don’t leave me!” Its eye was blinking in terror as it continued to bounce against her, trying to rouse her. Emissary felt tears well up in her eyes. Her Ghost. How could she leave her Ghost? How could she leave her friends?

Emissary rolled over onto her stomach and began to drag herself toward Uldren with her working arm. She couldn’t go back without him, not when the Fallen might still return. She used the railing to pull herself into a sitting position and then rested against it, breathing heavily. She could do this. She would do this. With her good arm, she moved her other hand to Uldren’s chest and curled her fingers around the front of his armor.

“Lock that,” she said to Spark. It floated above her arm for a moment and she felt the joints of her gauntlet stiffen and freeze. Now she could carry him back and still have her working arm.

She shifted to her knees first, stopping to lean her head against the railing. It almost felt like a prayer. Emissary didn’t know who she would pray to, but she certainly needed the help. She sent out a general plea, just in case anyone or anything was listening. Then she dragged one leg up and with a pained grunt pulled herself to her feet. Uldren’s dead weight yanked her armor askew, brushing the knife and sending a burst of excruciating pain through her shoulder and back. She screamed again, leaning over the railing and vomiting until the pain subsided.

“You just have to cross the Outpost. You can do this.” Spark flitted around her head and then in the direction of Malik’s storage room. Emissary straightened and then pushed away from the railing, taking one slow step.

“Engage walk subroutines,” she said, and almost immediately felt her leg armor begin to support her. She took another step, and another. The other side of the Outpost seemed impossibly far away.

“One more step, Guardian. One more.” Spark pulled away a little with each encouragement, leading her out. Emissary focused on its eye light and on the pattern of moving her feet. Knee forward, lift foot, foot out, foot down.

“What’s that saying?” she asked, her head nodding as she fought the desire to just sleep, to just die. Foot out. Foot down.

“Which saying?” Spark danced back again. They reached the postmaster station, which was currently sans postmaster. Emissary wondered whether it had escaped or whether the Fallen had taken it apart and stolen it.

“Best laid plans. Of mice?” Knee forward, lift foot.

“And men.”

“Often… often?” Foot down. No, foot out. Then foot down.

“’Often go awry.’ No matter how well you plan, something unexpected can still happen.”

“Anything can happen to anyone. You don’t see it… you don’t see it until it’s on you.” She reached the stairs and missed the first step, tripping down them to land on her face, Uldren sliding along with her. The fall jostled the knife again, and this time she roared in pain instead of screamed. She had to keep going. This couldn’t stop her.

Emissary knew she couldn’t take a moment to rest, or else she would risk slipping away again. She dragged herself back up, inch by inch, and staggered to her feet. Something dripped down her face, just past her eye. Blood, from a sharp pain on her brow. At least it hadn’t been her nose. She liked her nose.

She took another step and then thought to look down at Uldren. He seemed mostly unharmed. At least still breathing. Maybe banged up a little, but Emissary didn’t have the energy for empathy. She had to save it for knee forward, lift foot.

She staggered past the storage rooms that bordered the hangar and turned into the cutaway that led to Malik. A thought occurred to her for the first time. Had that been here last year? She’d never spent much time in the Reef. And now, here she was.

“This is the home stretch, Guardian. You can do it. We’re almost there.”

“I don’t feel like… a Guardian anymore. I don’t feel like… anyone.” She spoke through gasped breaths as her legs began to shake. She wasn’t going to make it. She would fall, here, and the House of Exile would scavenge her Lightless body.

“But you are! You always were! You’re a Guardian even if you’re alone, and I’ll always be here with you. Don’t give up, Guardian! Take another step!”

She did.

And another. She was close enough to see the blink of the peephole camera before the door opened and Petra sprinted out to meet her. She ducked under Emissary’s arm to support her and pulled her forward, but they only managed to go a little faster. A low rumble rose behind them.

“Exile is coming,” Emissary said, her voice barely audible. She glanced at Petra, who was powering forward with a determined frown. “Go, Petra. Just go. We won’t make it.”

“Shut up.” Petra leaned into it and they took another few steps forward. Emissary could see into the room, could see the guard poke her gun around the corner to watch behind them. Could see Variks and Malik and the Queen watching with worried expressions from inside.

“Petra. Go. Petra, leave us!” She could feel the stomping of individual footsteps now. A stray energy blast smashed against the wall just in front of them.

“Shut up!” Petra only tightened her grip. They were so close. The Fallen began a war cry, the sound close behind them. They must be nearly at the walkway by now. The guard stepped out, firing into the oncoming Fallen, and then grabbed Uldren by his armor.

“I got it!” Spark chirped. Emissary felt her gauntlet unlock as Spark flitted over, and the guard dragged Uldren inside. With one last heave, she and Petra made it over the threshold as a barrage of energy blasts pounded the walls on either side. One blast hit Emissary square in the back, and she yelled in pain as it slammed into her armor. She had no Light left to shield her.

The door closed with a hiss and a clang as Emissary collapsed forward onto the floor. Petra knelt next to her.

“You’re not going to like this,” she said. Emissary barely had time to grunt in confusion before Petra reached over and pulled Uldren’s knife out of her shoulder. Emissary yelled, slamming a fist against the floor as the horrible pain shot through her body again. It felt as though her nerves were being ripped out of her body, as though fire was coursing through her veins. The pain subsided, leaving behind a frightening numbness like she was feeling her body die while her mind stayed alive.

Petra rolled Emissary over onto her back and set a first aid kit next to her head before beginning to open the releases on her arm and chest pieces. The edges of her vision were blurry, but she saw as the Queen came and knelt next to her.

“My Emissary,” the Queen said in a low voice. “You came back to me.”

“Always, my queen.” Her voice was little more than a croak. It was getting more difficult to breathe. “Though maybe not this last time.”

“Don’t say that,” Petra snapped, tossing aside Emissary’s gauntlets and then lifting her to pull her chest piece over her head.

“Maybe I’ll see you again,” Emissary said, putting a shaking hand on Petra’s arm. “That would be nice. I’m sorry I’m the one leaving. I didn’t see it coming. I’m sorry.” She could barely see Petra or the Queen anymore. Everything was numb.

“Emissary! Emissary!” Whose voice was that? And not even reaching for her, but for a shadow of her. Not even calling her name.

“Charlie,” she said with a last breath. They needed to know. They deserved to know. “My name is Charlie.”

Darkness.


	7. Her Last Full Measure

Light.

Pain lanced through Charlie’s skull as she cracked her eyes open. It felt as though they were glued together. She struggled through the haze of unconsciousness, her senses slowly coming back to her. In the distance she heard the sounds of shouting and gunshots, and beneath her the ground was shaking. A soldier’s instinct shuddered and awoke within her. This was a battlefield, and she needed to be moving now.

She sat up with a grunt of pain as the wound in her shoulder throbbed. She needed her boots and she needed her gun, and that was all that mattered. She had already begun to haul herself to her feet when a hand reached out and pushed her back to the ground. She moved to swing a punch at her unknown attacker but instead her arm stayed limp at her side, a strange numbness spreading down from her shoulder to her fingers.

As her vision cleared, so did her mind. Petra was kneeling next to her with a concerned expression, a hand still on her good shoulder. The Queen sat cross-legged on her other side, still as a marble idol, but her hands were clenched so tightly in her lap that Charlie could see the veins. Charlie took deep breaths, gasping in air as she remembered where she was. Her chest piece and gauntlets lay discarded behind Petra, leaving her in only a sleeveless undershirt, and Charlie shivered as a chilly draft brushed over her bare arms.

“You are forbidden from ever doing that again,” the Queen said in a low voice. Her expression was implacable but her hands were shaking.

“I’ll second that,” Petra said. She squeezed Charlie’s shoulder and then sat back with a frown.

“At least don’t do it in my office, please,” Malik chimed in from behind the Queen. Variks knocked him on the head with his staff and he yelped. “I’m joking, I’m joking.”

“I’ll try,” Charlie said, her voice rasping in her throat. “What happened?”

“You were gone.” Petra glanced away from her, her brow furrowing. “Really gone, we thought.”

“I couldn’t rez you,” Spark said, coming over to nestle by her head. It was shaking slightly as it pressed against her. “There wasn’t any Light left.”

“And then it was like something kick-started you. You were breathing again all of a sudden and you started to wake up. Do you remember anything?” Petra asked.

“It was cold. And then hot.” Charlie tried to sort through what she had felt, the details dancing just beyond her memory. There had been nothing, and then there had been a burning that spread through her like a cleansing fire. It had been like standing in one of Scout’s sunspots, the flame seeping into her and kindling her Light without harming her. She’d almost thought she heard Scout’s voice, speaking from impossibly far away.

_Talk about “little Light.” Looks like you need a hand, kiddo. Or a whole arm. Heh._

“We can figure this out later. Right now, we need a way out of here.” Petra looked up and around, searching the walls as if hoping a secret passage would magically appear.

“Just go back in the floor like you came in,” Malik said, pointing to the hatch. “Hell, I’d sure like to.”

“How do you think we will get two wounded through the tunnels, hm?” Variks asked, shaking his head. “It is dangerous even for the healthy.”

“Are there tunnels that can take us out to the Outpost? We could go around and flank the Fallen.” Petra looked up at Variks and then down again as Charlie touched her arm.

“We sealed them,” Charlie said, still struggling for breath. “Safety – safety breaches.”

“Damn it. Who knows our defenses so well that they could cut us off like this?” Petra punched the floor in frustration.

“Uldren.” All eyes turned to Charlie as she spoke. She’d been dreading this moment.

“You understand the gravity of the accusation you have just made,” the Queen said, staring her down. It was not a question.

“He told me. Out there. He gave them information. Access. To frame me. To kill me.” Charlie felt a pit of dread weigh in her stomach. It all sounded so ridiculous. Uldren had become some cartoonish villain haunting an unbelievable fever dream. Perhaps she really had imagined it, she thought. But then she looked over to his knife, laying still and freezing at Petra’s side. “The knife is his.”

The Queen held out an expectant hand and Petra fumbled with the knife as she handed it over. As it came close to Charlie, she felt her chest seize up and the wound seared with pain as if it was fresh. She gritted her teeth.

“It is.” The Queen frowned down at it as if by her will she could make it not so. “But it is different.”

“There are strong traces of Darkness on it, similar to the Taken corruption.” Spark left her side for the first time to hover near the knife, keeping a careful distance. “Whatever he did to it, it wasn’t exactly on the up and up. And it was done specifically to take down a Guardian.”

“Blast,” Petra muttered, and put a hand to her brow.

“We will hear his account when he wakes,” the Queen said, handing the knife back to Petra. “But I am inclined to believe you.” The rest of them looked at her in surprise. Her frown was almost too slight to see. “He has been strange lately.”

“Are we going to get out of here or are we going to keep talking until the Fallen outside get their shit together and attack us?” Malik asked, his fear clear on his face.

“What do you want us to do?” Petra snapped. “We don’t have a plan. We don’t have anything.”

“We have me.” Charlie was beginning to feel dizzy. She tried to push herself away from the knife but couldn’t move past her wounded arm, which lay like a rock next to her. “I can go out. Lure them onto the walkway. Then put up my shield. Take care of most of them.”

“You don’t have enough Light left for a Super,” Spark said, drifting closer. “You barely have enough Light to stay alive.”

“I can use it. I can use everything that’s left to finish this. A suicide run.” She would die not with a whimper, but a bang – though as she struggled to sit up, she realized she didn’t want to die at all. She’d always considered her death with a calm pragmatism; it would happen, likely sooner rather than later, and she would accept it. But today she wanted to live.

It was the Queen rather than Petra who helped her sit up and move to lean against the wall. As Charlie fought to take deep breaths, the Queen tucked her wounded arm into the hem of her undershirt, tying it up in a makeshift sling. Each place on her skin that the Queen touched tingled as she let go, and Charlie shivered again.

“Did I not say you were forbidden from dying again?” the Queen asked as Petra stood and moved to speak with Variks in a low voice.

“If it’s me or you, my queen… the choice is simple.” Charlie did her best to smile, though the effort was almost more than she could bear. The Queen stared at her for a moment, her expression unreadable, and then reached down to take Charlie’s hand with both of her own. She inspected Charlie’s fingers silently for a time before she spoke.

“I would ask you a question.”

“You want to know why. Why I hid who I was.” She’d been expecting this – not just now but for some time. Ever since she had realized that someday she would have to come out of hiding.

“Yes.”

“My fireteam – Antares – we were together for years. And when we split up, when we just went our own ways so easily…” She trailed off as she thought of Scout and Tel’s faces. Of all the places they’d been, all the things they’d done. All that time. “Everybody else left Charlie behind, so I figured why couldn’t I do it too?” Her lip trembled as the Queen stood and turned away, but she didn’t even have the energy to apologize for her show of weakness. The numbness in her arm and shoulder had begun to creep up her neck. There wasn’t much time.

Petra was kneeling next to her with a hand on her shoulder, saying something. Charlie realized she must have fallen asleep and tried to blink away the tiredness in her eyes. She didn’t want to slip away. She didn’t want to die.

“- no other choice. You’re our only hope out there. But we won’t let you go by yourself.”

“I don’t –” Charlie yawned, her lungs aching. She was so tired. “I don’t understand.”

“We’re going with you. Variks and Nil and I.” She gestured to Variks and the guard, who stood with solemn expressions on their faces. “You don’t have to fight alone.”

Charlie thought to protest, but as she took a breath to speak she thought again. Maybe they were right. Maybe it was time for her to have a team again.

“Thank you,” she whispered, touching Petra’s hand. Petra smiled back.

“Let’s get you up.” She pulled Charlie’s good arm over her shoulder and helped her stand with a grunt, the two of them taking slow steps toward the door. They halted as the Queen stepped in front of Charlie, reaching out to touch her wounded shoulder with gentle fingers.

“Emissary – Charlie. You will not be left behind here,” she said in a low voice as she stepped closer. The top of her head barely reached Charlie’s chin. “The Reef protects its own, always. Show my kingdom the same respect – do not leave us behind either.”

“Yes, my queen.” She could barely manage a whisper, but a joyous feeling thumped in her chest as the Queen stepped aside.

The four fighters clustered by the door, Charlie still leaning heavily on Petra. They looked around at each other, frowns on their faces, and for a brief second Charlie wondered whether she was the only one who was afraid.

“Here’s the plan,” Petra said, shifting to pull Charlie up a little straighter. “Exile is out there waiting just on the other side of the walkway. I get Emissary – Charlie, sorry – into position near the front. Then I’ll go left and Nil goes right to stand on either side of the door and put out cover fire. When we have Fallen on the walkway, Charlie will pull out this shield of hers and advance, ideally causing some casualties. Variks says he’s going to flank them from behind and do… whatever it is he’s planning on doing.”

“I will make sure they do not escape,” Variks said with a dangerous grin.

“Right. I won’t ask.” Petra gave him a wary look. “Are we all clear?” The guard murmured her assent as Charlie and Variks both nodded. As if the Fallen outside knew their plans, a rumble and a shout echoed from the distance. “Then let’s go!”

Variks opened the door and the other three quickly ducked through, Charlie limping along with Petra as best she could. The guard went left, already firing her gun, and took cover behind the rail as energy bursts began to cross the gap between them. Variks slipped behind them and disappeared over the edge of the platform as the door clanged shut like a warning bell.

“Here is fine,” Charlie said, and Petra helped her kneel by the front edge before ducking to the side as well.

Charlie took a deep breath. It was good she only needed a small shield for this because she wasn’t sure she could manage anything else. With a grunt she pulled herself up to a crouch and shuffled forward, the effort making her heart pound to keep up. But she needed to stay low so she could cover her whole body with the shield. It wouldn’t be very good if her legs got shot out.

A screech rose up in the ranks of the Fallen as she came into view, and every gun in the mass quickly pointed in her direction. Charlie closed her eyes and imagined herself as a hand, reaching deep into the pool of Light that sustained her. Horrific pain wrenched through her chest as she pulled the Light out to form her shield. As she opened her eyes she noticed Spark for the first time, hovering by her ear. She felt its little Light join her own, and the shield cracked to life in front of her.

It was barely enough to cover her even when she ducked her head, but Charlie was already pressing forward. A few brave Dregs began to rush toward her, dodging the cover fire until they came close enough for the lightning to snap out and knock them back, tumbling over the edge or simply falling to the ground, dead. The Fallen waiting on the other side stilled their advance, watching her warily.

Then another screech rose up within them, this time out of fear. Charlie heard a series of muffled bangs and screams and then the ranks began to course forward as mass terror coursed through them. Charlie couldn’t see what had happened, but it seemed Variks had come through.

Dregs and Vandals fell off the sides of the walkway in droves, some pushed by their panicked brethren and others felled by Petra and Nil’s crossfire. Charlie leaned forward and braced as they crashed against her shield in waves, Arc lightning lashing out again and again to fell them. Each bolt drew deeper from her strength, and she swallowed to keep from vomiting as the last of her Light tugged on something deep within her, as if a tether deep in her flesh was pulling loose.

She closed her eyes again, trying to will more Light into existence. She couldn’t fail now. She had lived so many years as a Guardian. So many years against all odds. She had fought the Darkness with every ounce of her strength, had used her new life as best she could to protect the people around her. The Traveler had given her life once – surely she had returned enough that it could do it again. Surely the Traveler could answer her semblance of a prayer.

There was no rush of strength or burst of power, no miraculous healing or sudden fire and rain. But somehow her Light did not run out. It tugged and tugged but did not break as the last of the Fallen threw themselves against her or finally escaped to the safety of their transmat beams. The silence they left pounded against Charlie’s ears as the shield slipped from her grasp, fizzling out before it hit the ground. She fell as well, toppling forward as her muscles gave out. She sighed and almost closed her eyes as the vibrations of her friends’ footsteps pounded toward her. She was so tired.

“You’re okay, you’ll be okay!” she heard Spark say frantically as it fluttered around her, dancing in and out of her vision. Petra knelt next to her and leaned into her line of sight.

“Hold on, Charlie,” she said. Her voice sounded very far away. “We’ll get you some help soon, just hold on.”

“Don’t worry,” Charlie said in a whisper as her eyes fluttered closed. “I won’t leave you behind.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT NOTE:: starting this saturday there will be shorter "half-chapter" updates each week. you may want to avoid these chapters or take time to prepare yourself before reading them if you are bothered by: UNREALITY, direct address (the story sounds like it's talking to you), mentions of gore and injury, mentions of war/combat, or just overall scariness/creepiness/psychological stuff. (they're not all written yet so i'm not 100% on all the warnings but that should about cover it.) they're generally not that scary or bad, but the story CAN be read without them so it's perfectly possible to just ignore them. they probably aren't nearly as frightening as this note makes them sound, but they're pretty different in terms of tone and content than the rest of the story so i wanted to give everyone a heads up. thank you all for supporting me this far and giving me so much nice feedback!!


	8. (.5) The Way You Did Once

There is a Dark so deep that if you fell you would fall endless miles and your Light would flicker out a million times before you reached it

Charlie woke with a start. She was in a hospital bed, an IV snaking out of her hand up to a drip. She had bandages just about everywhere – her head, her shoulder, her stomach. Her legs, though one of them felt strange. She didn’t remember having that many injuries.

When she turned her head, there was Petra with her legs crossed and an open book in her hand. It had been a long time since Charlie had seen a real book.

“Petra.” Her throat was sore. She felt like she hadn’t spoken in years.

Petra started, looking up from her book as a smile stretched across her face.

“You’re awake! Oh, thank God. Thank God. I know they said you would, but I just – I was so worried, sweetheart. God, I was so scared.” She leaned over and kissed Charlie on the temple, pressing their foreheads together for a moment before she pulled her chair closer and laid her head on the bed. The sheets were very white, a strange white that seemed to glisten and twitch when Charlie looked away.

“What happened? What…?” But this wasn’t right. Petra wasn’t – Petra had called her sweetheart. It wasn’t Petra who used to call her sweetheart.

“Sweetheart, I – I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry. Your leg.” Petra bit her lip, tears welling up in her eyes. “You know I’ll do everything I can to help you. They’ve got really good prosthetics now, and the physical therapy doctors here are great. I’m so sorry.”

Charlie struggled to sit up. Her leg? What had happened to her leg? What was going on? She glanced past Petra through the doorway. A sign out in the hall was written in Mandarin Chinese. Intensive Care Unit, 313. Post-Intensive Recovery, 314-329. Her leg.

She had been driving from St. Petersburg to Moscow as part of a routine convoy. Third truck, wedged in the cab with Big Jack, who weighed about three hundred pounds and cheated at poker but gave half his stipend to Toys for Tots. Then, boom. First truck, roadside. Concealed trip laser, low enough even Tucker-4 had missed it. Boom, second truck. Insurgents with launchers. Through the smoke she saw a man’s face, twisted with hatred. He held the cross of the Russian Orthodox Church above his head as he waved for another launch. Boom, third truck. Charlie and Big Jack. Maybe ten seconds she was awake, everything ringing, smoke and the sound of auto rifles spitting from the trucks behind her. All she could see was Big Jack. He weighed about one fifty. One eye was still rolling around in his head. She wondered if Big Jack got ten seconds, too.

Petra was watching her, her lip still trembling. Charlie’s face was oily with sweat and fear. This was the Allied Marine Corps Hospital in Beijing.

“The bombs. The convoy.”

“They managed to save most of the thigh. They’re keeping it open for now, until they get consent for a graft prosthetic. Think of that!” Petra laughed, more anxiety than amusement. “A cool robot leg! You always used to joke about that.”

“You shouldn’t be here, Petra. You shouldn’t – you weren’t in Beijing. It wasn’t you.”

“Look, Charlie. Look, I know I’ve kind of jerked you around. And I said a lot of things. But, God, when they called me I was so scared. And all I could think was that I was your first number, that all we had was us and what if it had been a different call and they’d sent me back a flag instead of flying me out here. God, Charlie. I just – I love you.”

“No. No, this wasn’t you, it wasn’t you!” Charlie scrambled to sit up, but her arms were strapped to the sides of the bed. When she tried to wrench her arm out, pain exploded in her shoulder. The knife. Uldren’s knife. The Reef. The Queen.

“It wasn’t me?” Petra asked, cocking her head at an angle that seemed familiar. “It wasn’t me? Charlie, Charlie. It’s always me. You’re mine now.” Petra raised a hand to stroke her face but it was a claw, black with Taken blight. “You gave me your name so you’re mine.”

“No! No!” She kicked, only one leg responding. This wasn’t her, this wasn’t real. Beijing was so long ago, so long that she hadn’t remembered until now. She pulled against the bindings again, the pain in her shoulder snapping up into her skull as a headache that almost blinded her. “Spark! No! Scout! Tel! Petra!”

Darkness.

There is a Dark a deep you fall and fall and fall your Light goes out I know you hear me

It was dark but Charlie was there, standing in it. It stretched all around her, so dense she couldn’t see her hands in front of her. She didn’t dare take a step for fear of what might be around her.

Then there was a light. It was a light but there was no Light in it, a spark of something awful and cruel and poisonous. Anything was better than standing still as the light flicked toward her, any pitfall was better than standing still because it was looking for her and if it found her she would never get out. She turned and ran but it followed, flicking slowly after her as she ran and ran and ran into the Dark. It knew she couldn’t run forever. It would catch her when she tired.

This Dark I know you hear let me smother you oh little Light I know you hear me you will fall and fall and your Light will go out

“Charlie! Charlie!”

Tucker dragged himself toward her, everything from the chest down gone. Just gone. The dust was settling around them.

“We got a plane, Chuck.” God, she hated that nickname. “They’ll fly you out. It’ll be okay.” His eyes flickered. “You’ll be okay. Hey, and you tell Mina if we both make it out of this war she has to take me on a date, alright? Hook up my old backups to a desktop if she has to and wheel me to a movie. You’ll be-”

The light was gone.

“God, Charlie. I just – I love you.”

She was Jack, she was the half of Big Jack that wasn’t already in hell and all she could think was, I never wrote my will. I never wrote my will and Tia Raquel is going to fly up from Argentina and fight the estate for every penny of my stipend and those kids will never get their toys like I did, those kids I want to live I want to go back and write my will damn there’s Chuck I shouldn’t have cheated her for $100 that one time but maybe she’ll still tell them give it to the kids. Tell them Jack said Tia Raquel can fuck right off to Satan’s right hand where she belongs and give the kids everything Chuck please

Jack’s ten seconds is up.

Do you want ten more? Perhaps you’d like ten of someone else’s seconds. Would you like to know how they all die? Their last moments? I know. I can tell you. Come to me, little Light. I can give you everything. You just have to ask.

A Dark so deep


	9. Look Homeward

Charlie woke with a start. She was in her bed, in her shitty apartment that sat just across from the Reef’s manufacturing district with all the other shitty apartments where Vanguard employee transfers lived.

“You’d think they’d give you better real estate, seeing as you spend your whole day standing next to the Queen.”

Charlie looked over to find Petra smirking at her, one finger hovering over the datapad display in her lap. Charlie huffed a laugh and then closed her eyes again as she dredged herself up from sleep. All of her muscles were stiff, and she stretched her legs under the covers and yawned. Her right shoulder was bandaged up and her arm was tied into a sling that rested on her stomach.

“How long have you been sitting on that one?” she asked, her voice cracking in her dry throat. Petra picked up a glass of water off the bedside table and handed it to Charlie, who half sat up to take sloppy gulps until the glass was empty.

“You’ve been out for about three days, so I’d say maybe two and a half.”

“Two and a half days for one joke.” Charlie laid back down, wiping water from her face and shaking her head with a smile.

“I actually wasn’t going to say anything until earlier when I tried to use your bathroom.”

“There’s a reason I shower out at the compound, Petra, and it’s not because I like an audience.” The communal showers at the military compound were much preferable to the horrors that lay beyond her own bathroom door.

“I really am glad you’re up, though. I didn’t sit here all this time just to tell you a bad joke.” She shifted in her chair to lean toward Charlie with a grin. “Everyone will be happy to hear.”

“You’re back!” Charlie barely had time to look to the door before Spark zoomed through to collide with her chest, knocking the wind out of her. She laughed and patted its spines as it nestled under her chin. “We were worried.”

"I’m okay now,” she said, looking over Spark to grin back at Petra. It felt good to be okay.

“Do you need anything? Help getting up? Food?” Petra rose and tucked the datapad under her arm.

“I think I’m alright,” Charlie said. She slid her legs out from under the covers and tested her weight before standing. She rolled her shoulders, grimacing at the twang of pain as she moved her wound, and then adjusted her arm in the sling. She didn’t exactly feel good, but she felt good enough. She felt alive.

“Then I should go deliver the good news. I’m under very strict orders to notify Her Grace as soon as you wake up.” Petra smiled and then moved the datapad under her other arm, shifting her weight.

“Then you should definitely do that,” Charlie said, smiling back. “I think I’ll be here for a while if you want to come see me again.”

“Of course.” Petra’s grin widened. “I’ll see you soon.”

She left as Charlie stretched again and pushed her hair back from her forehead. It was getting long.

“I need a shower, little one,” she said to Spark. “Time to brave the wilds.”

Towel in hand, Charlie edged her way through the bathroom past the sink and the toilet. She took off her sling and unwrapped her shoulder, stretching her arm to test its mobility. She at least was able to use it, though the fingers barely moved and it still felt clumsy and numb. She held it close to her body as she turned on the shower, hissing as she stepped in and the hot water hit her wound. As her body grew used to the heat, she closed her eyes and let herself relax.

She remembered dreaming, but the details were dancing just beyond her memory. There had been something unnerving about waking up with Petra next to her, something frightening and familiar. Her whole body ached, and she had begun to notice something strange in the air. It felt tainted.

She struggled to wash with only one arm, tucking the bottle of soap into the crook of her elbow as she tried to reach everywhere with only one hand. She felt sweaty and filthy and she sucked in a breath in pain as shampoo lather dripped into the cut on her shoulder. It seemed strange that the wound was still open after three days. She massaged the muscles in her shoulder and wondered if she could find a doctor to ask.

She felt only marginally cleaner as she stepped out of the shower, eyeing the strange coloring in the corners of the walls as she dodged out, toweling off as she ran.

Dressing herself proved to be difficult as well as she hopped around on one foot, trying to pull her underwear on one-handed. She found a roll of bandages on the bedside table and did her best with those as well, but again her now almost immobile right arm made dressing her wound almost impossible. She finally gave up and tied the bandages off before struggling into a tank top and heading out to her kitchen.

She dug through her refrigerator and then her cabinets with a frown. There wasn’t much she could make without a fair amount of effort. Most days she enjoyed cooking, but today didn’t seem like a good day to spend a lot of time juggling knives and fires. She was lucky that her left hand was her dominant hand, but as she hefted a frying pan experimentally she felt the imbalance in her body. After a moment’s consideration, she gave a sigh and a shrug and put the pan on the stove. She had to eat something.

As she watched her eggs and bacon cook she leaned against the counter and sighed again, putting the spatula down to rub her face with her hand. Everything was difficult; everything was exhausting. Whether or not her arm healed, she would have to learn new ways to do all the things she’d taken for granted. It was her leg all over again.

Her leg. She felt a wave of nausea and leaned into the counter, gripping the edge until her fingers hurt. She’d begun her life as a Guardian with no memories but a name; she hadn’t wanted the memories anyway. But here were bits and pieces of her old life raining down like broken glass. She remembered the military, the war. The hospital. She remembered limping on a prosthetic as she learned how to walk again.

And she remembered her dreams. Only in parts, only the mesmerizing swirl of Darkness and the shimmering white of a hospital bed. But why now? What had dredged up her past after so long? A strange weight settled over her, and she reached up to touch her wounded shoulder. She felt… small.

Spark landed on her head, jolting her out of her strange reverie. She jumped as she remembered the frying pan, pulling it off the fire and breathing a sigh of relief as she confirmed that nothing had burned. She shuffled the food clumsily onto a plate and then bustled around the kitchen, cleaning up after herself.

With only one arm working, she had to ferry back and forth between the counter and the small table in her kitchen, delivering food, drink, and fork in separate trips. Finally she sat down with a huff, somehow winded by the short trips. She took a deep breath before poking at her food with her fork. She really wasn’t that hungry, but she knew it was important.

Spark rested on the table next to her, blinking at her as she ate one reluctant bite after another. It seemed determined to keep a constant eye on her, though she couldn’t exactly blame it after everything that had happened. She felt a little comforted, in fact, knowing that it cared so much.

She thought as she forced down bites of egg, moving her shoulder as best she could and wondering at the pain. It was common for Guardians to get injured, but rare for them to stay so. She could only imagine that something about the nature of the wound – something about that knife – had kept Spark from stitching her back together.

“Spark,” she said, setting down her fork. “Could I just die? And you rez me? To fix the arm, I mean.” Dying was unpleasant. Some Guardians didn’t mind it; once upon a time, Charlie had been one of those. But now she avoided it as best she could. At some point, all that pain and all that fear started to stick with you.

“I don’t know,” Spark said. Its eye blinked at her. “But I don’t think so. It… I think it would stop me.”

Charlie didn’t know what “it” was. She wasn’t sure Spark knew either. Was “it” the writhing chill of Darkness that sat in her shoulder like a splinter? Or was “it” something else, something deeper and more dangerous than the brute insensibility of a stab in the back? She stared at the food still left on her plate. She had not been hungry before, but now she felt nauseous as well. The feeling of smallness had returned, as though the brightness of her Guardianhood was being stripped away. As though her naked Light was sitting next to a great sea of Darkness that waited to swallow her up.

She rapped her knuckles on the table, using the little burst of pain to snap her out of her thoughts. This wasn’t productive at all. She picked up the fork and shoveled food into her mouth. If she had to heal the traditional way, she would need all the sustenance she could get. And if she couldn’t heal – well. She still had to stay alive.

\--

Somehow the Queen had thought that a full contingent of the Royal Guard marching down the street in the Reef’s Vanguard apartment block would have drawn more attention. The street was hardly deserted; Exos, humans, and Earthborn sat on the shabby front porches of the apartment complexes, barely glancing up from their activities and conversations as the clatter of boots moved by. The players in a pickup game of some sport she did not recognize didn’t even look away from their court as they passed.

She swallowed her displeasure with her usual measured expression, keeping her curiosity contained to sidelong glances. Whoever she was to these people, she certainly wasn’t their Queen. An Exo having an animated conversation with a datapad displaying a vid feed reminded her – these people had loyalties elsewhere. Perhaps Guardians were the anomaly, then. These people belonged somewhere, but it sometimes seemed that Guardians belonged both nowhere and everywhere. Perhaps that was why their loyalties could be so easily swayed.

They came to a halt near the end of the block, among the shabbiest units. She frowned as she looked over the missing roof tiles and the sagging front steps. Was this what they had given to her Emissary – to Charlie?

“You may wait here,” she said, waving a hand at the guards around her. Several of them glanced at her, looking nervous, but the squad leader – Nil, who had been with her during the attack – waved a hand and the rest of them fell back. Nil headed up the steps before her and opened the door with a small bow, waving her in and then following her.

“Third door on the right, Your Grace,” she said, and then two of them stopped in front of it. “Shall I knock?”

“Yes.”

This odd feeling of nervousness, of wondering what she would find when the door opened, was so foreign to her. She’d had little occasion to do unfamiliar things over the years, and less still to do anything about which she was not absolutely sure. This had been a whim, a decision made only on the sudden desire to see Charlie, to know she was alright. She had gone forward with it not knowing what state Charlie would be in, not knowing for certain even if she would be welcome. It seemed an age before the door finally opened.

Her heart seemed to stop when she saw Charlie. Her hair was damp and ruffled and she was barely dressed – just a pair of underwear and a thin tank top. The Queen could see all the lines of her body, where they came from and where they ended, the curve of her hips up to her waist, the curve of her breasts up to her shoulders, and the lines of her neck up to her face – which was turning bright red. She had never thought of Charlie in such an intimate context; she had never even thought of Charlie outside of her armor. 

“Your – Your Grace,” Charlie said, bowing. “What – what are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

“Petra informed me that you are improving,” she said, fighting the urge to look Charlie up and down again. “I wished to see your condition for myself.”

“Oh! Please – please, come in. I’m sorry,” Charlie said, stepping aside and waving them both in. “For that. And for my clothes. I’m having some trouble with my arm.” She was still blushing, and she looked down as the Queen tried to meet her eye.

“Perhaps Nil can assist you in at least acquiring some pants.” For a heartbeat before the words left her mouth, she almost volunteered herself. Instead she turned to the worn couch against the nearby wall and sat, glancing around the room with feigned disinterest.

Charlie led Nil further into the apartment and through a door which the Queen assumed led to a bedroom. As they disappeared, she turned her attention to the room she sat in. The bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling cast a yellow tint over everything, making the already dingy room look even more dilapidated. The kitchen wasn’t even separated from the main area, and even from across the room the Queen could see that the appliances were worn out and rusted. This wasn’t acceptable.

Quiet voices drifting out of Charlie’s bedroom shifted her attention again. The apartment wasn’t that big, and she could just barely hear a conversation.

“Hey, hands to yourself there.” Two people laughing.

“Don’t flatter yourself. Just stick your damn leg through. How the hell did you manage to answer the door naked in front of the Queen?”

“It’s my own damn house, alright? And I wasn’t exactly expecting her.”

“Expecting someone else?” Another laugh.

“Petra, actually.” A pause. “Alright, that sounded a lot less shady in my head.”

“Really? Petra?” The Queen strained harder to hear.

“Not like that. She just wanted to come back and check on me. Are you trying to help me with this or knock me over? Come on.”

“Stop jumping around, then. Not interested, Emissary?”

“No. There’s… anyway.”

“Oh, there’s what?”

“I’m dressed, it’s time to leave. Work with me here, I can’t push you.”

This new, playful side of Charlie fascinated her. Was this how she interacted with her equals? For a heartbeat she almost wished that she was not a queen. Then she pushed the thought away, looking over to the kitchen again as Charlie and Nil emerged.

“My apologies, my Queen,” Charlie said, bowing again. She was finally wearing some pants, and Nil had helped her put on the sling for her arm. She seemed much more comfortable now that her embarrassment had passed.

“We are all fallible,” she said, watching as Charlie’s face flushed a deep red again. “Nil, you may go.”

Nil left, her face locked in a quickly slipping deadpan. As the door clicked shut, the Queen waved to the couch next to her in invitation.

Charlie sat, holding her arm to keep it from swinging in the sling. She seemed to have little or no control over it, though Petra had said it appeared fine when she left. She felt a pang of worry at how quickly it had deteriorated.

“Thank you for coming, my Queen.” Charlie looked down at her lap, her blush still lingering. “It means a lot to me.”

The Queen reached out to touch her knee for just a moment and then dipped her head in a nod as Charlie looked up.

“How fares your wound?”

“Not – not well. It hasn’t healed much that I can tell. My arm barely works.” Her pain seemed to be more than just physical – after all, her very existence relied on strength, and now she had lost it. “I’d like to return to work as soon as I can, my Queen. Even with one arm, I can still protect you.”

“A wounded guard is little help in a crisis. It would be better for you to heal first.”

“Oh. Yes. Yes, of course.”

She hadn’t expected disappointment. Charlie looked again at her lap, trying and failing to hide a frown. Perhaps a purpose would be better for her than simple bed rest.

“However, I would welcome the counsel of at least one of my advisors. You may return to me in a week’s time, when you have regained your strength.”

“Of course, my Queen.” Charlie’s face lit up with joy, and the Queen felt a small, happy thing rise deep in her chest. But after a moment Charlie’s face became serious again. “The Prince?” she asked with a grimace.

“My brother is – incarcerated. Until such time as we understand further.” Uldren had not yet been forthcoming with any answers, about either the attack or his own motives. The Queen clenched her teeth, her recent worry returning.

“I’m sorry, my Queen.” Charlie frowned. Her fingers moved as though she meant to reach out and touch the Queen, but then they stilled.

“You have no fault in it.” Her tone was sharp despite her best efforts.

“No, I just mean – I wish I could help. I wish there was something I could do.”

The Queen looked at her, at the earnestness in her face and the openness of her posture. It was clear how truly she meant it, how much she wanted to help. What an extraordinary woman, so much an open book.

“You can get better,” she said, and she reached out to brush her fingers against Charlie’s cheek. Then she rose before she lost herself in the moment, not daring to look back until she and Nil stood again outside the old building. The windows of the complex were dark as they marched home.


	10. (.5) The Bluebird (As She Sings)

The summer sun was warm on Charlie’s skin as she leaned back against the rail outside the recruitment office. Uncertainty roiled in her stomach as she picked a piece of paint off the metal. When she flicked it away it spun to the ground, shimmering black in the sunlight. This felt like running away.

Of course there was a war on. Charlie felt it just as much as anyone else. But China and boot camp seemed infinitely far away, like some strange thought she’d entertained for a moment in a dream despite not really wanting it. But she didn’t know where else to go. She couldn’t stay here.

There was a certain wonder at the idea of training in the shadow of the Traveler. In the chance to meet the legendary Exos, the war machines few civilians had ever seen. Most of all, the opportunity to become strong. To protect people.

One person in particular, if she was being honest with herself. She wanted to be strong enough to keep ----- safe. The name skittered over the surface of her mind, slipping away before she caught it.

They’d been friends for so many years. Since they were children. After ------------------------------, she had been the only one there for Charlie. The only one who didn’t flinch or look away. More memories scattering like pebbles when she reached for them. It had been so long since ------------------------------, but she still felt cold when she thought of it, and then warm again when she thought of -----.

Perhaps that was why she had fallen in love. ----- had been everything to her. When they reached their teenage years and the awakenings that came with them, Charlie had found that she felt ---------------------. More than what ----- felt, she thought. She let the feelings consume her while ----- went through boyfriends, through break-ups, all the while leaning on Charlie for support. And Charlie had supported her, like a friend should.

It had come as a surprise to both of them when ----------------. Charlie frowned at her feet as she searched for the memory. It had been junior year, just before the summer. They had been laughing in the late dusk, the heat lingering on their faces and their shoulders and they had ----------------. Charlie stared at the asphalt as though it would give her an answer. Where was it?

She remembered that after ----------------, ----- had pulled away. They’d barely talked all summer. And then when school came around again, ----- had pretended that nothing had happened. She pretended they were who they’d been before. So Charlie had pretended too.

That was why she was leaving. To get away. She wanted to leave behind the memories of ------------------------------ and ----------------, leave behind the streets where she had -------------------- for so long. Her mind was like a sieve. Where was -----? She was supposed to be here, and Charlie remembered suddenly as if she was Merlin living backwards that tonight they would ------------------------- and that would keep her through ---------, through -------, through the ------------------------ all the way until Beijing. Beijing she remembered, or foresaw.

She knelt to pick a rock out of the cracks in the rough face of the parking lot. In twenty years, ------------ would come. She would ------------------------------------------. And then she would ---.

She tossed the rock out across the lot. What strange daydreams. Summer always brought with it these bizarre thoughts, these half remembrances of that night, these idle visions of the future. Last year in the summer she had thought, maybe I will go to war. Maybe I’ll learn to fight. And here she was.

A car honked and she looked up, her heart leaping in her chest. There was Petra grinning in her beat up convertible, Nil crammed into the backseat with a pout as she played a video game. When Petra waved, Charlie waved back and ran over.

“Took you long enough,” she called, hopping the door and sliding into the passenger seat. “Fuck, it’s hot.”

“Can we go home now?” Nil whined, and when Charlie turned and reached back to ruffle her hair she screamed and laughed, smacking at Charlie’s arm with ice cream-sticky hands.

“Yes, we can go home,” Petra said, pulling out of the parking lot as the tires squealed. “Stop being so embarrassing.”

“She’s just a kid, Petra,” Charlie said with a laugh. Something twisted deep in her stomach. That wasn’t the right name. It was ----- who had picked her up today, who had driven them to the movies, --- in tow, and then home, where she had ---------- until they both were breathless.

“So is it all done?” Petra asked over the roar of wind around them. “Are you really going?”

“Yeah. Unless – unless you want me to stay. I can still back out.” Charlie waited but Petra was silent, her expression hidden as she watched the road. “Petra?” But that wasn’t the right name. It wasn’t Petra who had bitten her lip, who had glanced at Charlie, guilty, and then said – 

“No. You should go.”

Of course. The wind went silent as the shadows under the dashboard began to twitch and move. After tonight, she would not see ----- for -----------. In one week she would leave for --------- and ----- would not write or call until ----------. And then again the same dance, saying she -------------- and then next that she ---------. Charlie watched idly as a shadow crept up her leg, its tendrils twisting like malformed fingers. She always remembered today as ----------------------.

Remembered today as what? There was nothing there. It was like stepping into a hole in the dark, like trying to recall the face of someone she had only met once, years ago. All this traveling backwards, this remembering of the future, made her dizzy. The car had disappeared, the three of them frozen in some comical tableau like street performers with imaginary props.

"It's been so long," she said, her eyes fluttering closed. So long since ----------------. Or perhaps it would be long, so long until -------------------.

“Yes. But you’re safe now.” Petra’s voice was so sweet and quiet. Charlie could not open her eyes, but she felt a claw tap her cheek.

“I’m safe.” It sounded true and then not. Tonight they would ---------------------. But even if it couldn’t be -----, it wouldn’t be Petra. Maybe it could be the Queen. Just like for -----, it was for the Queen that Charlie would go to war.

“I won’t leave you like she did.” The words were a hiss, a snarl of anger. She had heard Charlie’s thoughts. “I won’t crush you like she will. You can never have her again, Charlie. You’ll never have her. Just stay with me. Please.”

Charlie felt a pang of guilt and sorrow. It wasn’t Petra’s fault. So many people, caught up in things they couldn’t control. A deep, deep cold was dripping down her back like old blood. This was the part of the memory where the Darkness came.

Clever child. So bright. You fight so much harder than these blind little moths.

She felt a softness brush against her lips like a memory of that kiss, but when she opened her mouth it crawled in, tasting of metal and ash. She tried to reach up to her face but her arms wouldn’t move. She could feel them limp at her sides.

Clever, bright child. What wonderful stories you have for me. What tender moments I can take. You will help me grow, little light. And when the time comes, you will be mine.

The Darkness crawled down her throat, and her chest began to heave as her body fought for air. The most frightening thought was that this was not where she died. She would not die here because she still had to ----------------------------------------. Those things were still coming, so she would have to live through this pain and this terror. Her hands were shaking, the muscles in her arms suddenly so tense they hurt.

Hush now, little light. Soon I will do what even my father could not. Now hush, hush. You will see.


	11. Revelations

Charlie rubbed her face with her hands, trying to blink the sleep out of her eyes. It was much too early in the morning to be meeting Petra in some back corridor of the royal compound under vague circumstances. Her armor felt too heavy and tight after so long without it, and the weight of her old scout rifle, pulled from storage to replace her broken hand cannon, felt too heavy and unbalanced. But Petra had insisted on seeing her before she headed to her first day back in court, and the strange fear in her eyes as she asked had worried Charlie enough that she’d said yes.

Charlie flexed her right hand as best she could, frowning at the clumsiness of her fingers. She had about four hours of mobility left until the exhaustion set in and she would have to tuck her arm into a sling and let it rest. She was especially concerned today; she had promised the Queen that she was well-rested enough to resume her duties, but her recovery was much slower than she’d thought it would be. She would become a liability to the Queen’s safety if her injury became too obvious.

“Charlie!” She jumped, turning to see Petra jogging up. It had become easier and easier recently for her to get lost in her thoughts.

“I really hope this is important,” she said with a sigh.

“It is, I promise.” Petra frowned. “It’s a matter of some sensitivity, but I’m sure I can trust you to be discreet.”

"That’s my job,” Charlie said. She felt a jolt of anxiety in her stomach. Whatever this was, it wasn’t good.

“Then I’ll explain on the way down.” Petra beckoned and then worked her hands into a seam in the wall and pulled. A door slid back with a rattle of wheels to reveal a rickety lift. “You first,” Petra said with a forced smile.

“Where are we going?” Charlie asked, stepping into the lift with Petra close behind. She glanced around at the rusty, bare metal with a frown.

“Variks and I…” Petra paused, looking away when Charlie tried to meet her eye. “We started a project. After she disappeared.”

“A project.”

“Studying the Taken. Trying to harness their power. Trying to control them. And, of course, when the Prince was found, it only seemed natural to read him in.”

“You what?” Charlie tried to fight the emotions surfacing on her face. Anger. Disbelief. Disgust. Fear. “You have Taken. Here, in the Reef? You’re ‘studying’ them?”

“What else should we have done?” Petra asked, her eyes wide and pleading for understanding. “She was lost to an unknown enemy – we had nothing, Charlie! The only way to beat them was to know as much as we could!”

“You should have left that to the Tower. To the Vanguard. We have people specially trained to deal with that sort of thing safely, Petra.” She tried to hide her anger.

“The Vanguard,” Petra said with a scoff, shaking her head. Charlie frowned at her in confusion. The Vanguard had never quite been Petra’s favorite people, but Charlie had never seen her so disdainful. “The Vanguard is too careful. We can’t just stop at recording energy bursts and containing populations. We have to take their own power from them to win.”

“And what does the Queen think of this?” Charlie turned to watch the edges of the lift as they descended. Each time she blinked she swore she saw the metal waver as if with the twisted light-dark of Taken blight.

“Yes… well.” When Charlie tore her gaze away from the walls, she found Petra picking at the hem of her own sleeve like a child caught in misbehavior.

“Petra?” It was more a warning than a question.

“There hasn’t been much time, you see, what with… things. And the involvement of the Tech Witches makes it complicated. The Queen wouldn’t be very happy. She thinks they’re dead.”

“Which is a preferable alternative to…?” It had been a long time since Charlie felt this cold pit of dread so heavy in her stomach.

“There was an accident. But it’s – it’s stable! The transfer is stable, there’ve been no fluctuations for a cycle and a half since the initial collapse. It’s just a matter of how to explain it to Her Grace, you see. It’s all a success, it’s just… touchy.”

Charlie suppressed the urge to heave a sigh, less for Petra’s benefit and more because the air around them had grown thick and sour. The thought of breathing in a sigh’s worth of the metallic fog around her made her dizzy with fear and nausea. The lift connected with the port with a dull clang that shivered like a ripple of water across Charlie’s face, and she wished suddenly that she had brought her helmet.

"What, exactly, do you have down here?" She stared down the dark hallway, her body tensing as though she was in a combat zone. She reached behind her to feel for her back harness and make sure her scout rifle was within easy reach. The unfamiliar weight had suddenly become reassuring.

Petra stepped into the darkness and after a moment rows of fluorescent lights flickered on one by one down the hall like a spreading fire. She picked a datapad up off a hook on the wall and tapped through files as Charlie joined her. Somehow the light was not at all reassuring.

“Two high-priority subjects, ranked Alpha and Epsilon based on our power estimates. We pulled them from the Prison near the beginning of our studies. Currently we have twenty-seven low-priority subjects on hand, though we cycle through those pretty quickly. Again, not hard to get those from Guardian Prison runs. We just pull them out when no one’s looking. And then…” She paused with a frown, glancing up at Charlie. “We have a sizeable Blight source down here as well.”

“No.” Charlie crossed her arms. “No.”

“It’s tied to the Tech Witches now, Charlie! We couldn’t get rid of it even if we wanted to; not without blowing half the Vestian cluster across the system. And the transfer is powering half the Reef now – surely that can’t be a bad thing.”

“But at what cost?” The question sounded corny as it left her mouth, but her concern was genuine. Petra clearly had no idea what effects the presence of the Taken might have on the Reef, and she didn’t even seem to care.

“Almost no cost – that’s the beauty of it! The power seems limitless, as if was drawing on some massive source in another plane of existence.”

“That’s because it is!” Charlie said, fighting to keep her voice below a shout. “It’s pulling from Oryx’s domain – from the darkest possible place we’ve ever had access to. You can’t really think that there’s no danger in that, that you can just do that without repercussions!”

“But there haven’t been any so far! We have researchers down here monitoring the activity around the clock and no reports of any ill effects. We can control the Taken, Charlie! We can create Taken and control them!”

The pieces slid into place. Charlie almost felt a physical _thud_ in her body as she realized. She stared down the hall, following the lines of the tiles as far out as she could see them as she tried to control her anger. But for some reason it rose and rose until she felt as though something was going to snap. Finally she spoke, her voice shaking.

“Uldren.” Petra flinched. “You thought I wouldn’t figure it out? He made that knife here, didn’t he? He gave that Servitor to Exile.”

“We couldn’t have foreseen that, Charlie. There was nothing we could have done – ”

“You gave a Taken Servitor to the House of Exile!” Charlie roared, slamming a fist into the wall. The metal buckled under the force of the blow. “Your _experiments_ compromised the safety of the entire Reef, Petra, and almost killed me! And you just want me to accept that?”

"That - that was an isolated incident. Of course the Prince was a special case. Almost no one else has that level of access or control here.”

“You do!” Charlie snapped. She could see the fear and regret on Petra’s face, and she reined in her anger as best she could, lowering her voice. “And Variks must, and now I do. Don’t you understand the danger?”

“There’s no reason to think – ”

“Never underestimate your own fallibility, or anyone else’s. Jealousy could turn you or me as easily as it turned Uldren.” _We’re all fallible._ Suddenly the phrase had a frightening new meaning. She turned away, clenching her teeth. At the very least, she had to get this under control somehow.

“We can’t stop it now, Charlie. And we shouldn’t, not based on an off chance that something bad might happen. We’ve got too much good research going on down here.”

Charlie closed her eyes. Her rage felt like it was breaking against the backs of her eyes like waves in a storm. She could barely think, but she managed to pull one thing out of the haze.

“Petra, let me take this back to the Tower. I can have Guardians here in a week to help you. All of Ikora’s people are top-notch researchers, and I think having some Light in here will do some good.”

Something strange darkened in Petra’s face and she swiped a hand through the air in a decisive no.

“My people are doing just fine. We have a working system and reliable research going, and I don’t need the Vanguard coming in and fiddling with things and asking useless questions.”

Charlie clenched her teeth until the spasm of nausea in her belly had passed. The dry air pricked at the whites of her eyes and a drop of cold sweat crept down the small of her back.

“Fine. But can we go back upstairs? Something down here reeks.”

“Fine.”

They rode back up the lift in silence. Charlie glanced between the walls and Petra’s face, watching as the Taken shimmer subsided and the sheen of sweat on Petra’s forehead faded. Though the bubbling anger finally slipped away, somehow her fear settled even deeper. The air felt like hands dragging her back down, the fingers clutching at her boots all the way until the lift clanged to a stop at the surface.

She waited until they had stepped away and each taken in several deep gulps of fresh air before she tried again.

“Petra. Please let me take this to Ikora Rey. She’ll have Guardians here in a week to help your people, top-notch researchers. That pit could use some Light.”

Petra let out a deep sigh and rubbed her hands over her face.

“I’m so glad you offered. I’ve been trying to figure out how to ask for weeks – that’s why I brought you down to see. We’re in over our heads with nowhere to go but deeper. I’ll take anybody you can bring as quickly as possible.”

For a moment Charlie stared at her, struggling to keep her expression guarded. She had suspected Petra might change her mind once they had left, but she didn’t even seem to remember her previous answer. She felt a wave of fear rise in her chest as she thought of that other Petra that had scowled at this same question in the dark below. Who or what had that been?

“Good. I want to take this back to the Tower in person. I’ll get leave from Her Grace and go as soon as I can. And Petra? Look – don’t go back down there for a while if you can help it. Please.”

Petra waved a dismissive hand, but as she walked away her shoulders slumped with exhaustion. Charlie only hoped that she would listen until they could get Guardians in there to do – something. Something more than what she alone could do, she thought as she headed out with the fear still nestled in her stomach.

\--

The Queen shifted in her seat impatiently, staring down the walkway in front of her throne with a barely perceptible sour expression. It had been almost two weeks since her Emissary had stood in her court, and the empty spot by her throne had long since become irritating. Missing both Uldren and Charlie by her sides left her feeling unsettled.

It was not that she believed her own guard incapable of protecting her. They were well trained – by Charlie herself – to protect the Queen from dangers of all sorts. And she was more than capable of delivering judgment without constant advisement. But the silence had become lonely.

“My queen.” And there was Charlie with a smile and a bow. She had slipped in through the compound entrance while the Queen was lost in her thoughts.

“I am glad to see you return.” She let a small smile pass over her lips, her breath catching in her chest as Charlie’s smile widened in response. There was something so exquisite in knowing that reaction belonged to her and her alone.

“I’m glad to be back. I missed – this.” The instant of hesitation in her voice made the Queen blink and search Charlie’s face. But after a moment she pushed the question away.

“In my brother’s absence, I would have you stand with me throughout the day. You are familiar to my people now, and certainly fit to give counsel on their matters.”

“Of course, my queen.” Charlie bowed again, but as she straightened her brow furrowed for just a moment.

“Speak your mind,” the Queen said, and then pursed her lips in amusement as Charlie grimaced sheepishly at being caught.

“It’s my arm. It gets tired quickly.”

“The Guard will suffice to protect me, Emissary. Your advice will be enough.”

"Yes, my queen." Charlie nodded and took her place by the Queen’s side, settling into her familiar stance. The Queen watched her for a moment and then looked away. Their interactions so frequently petered out to nods and formalities. Surely there must be something more.

She’d thought the day would travel smoothly no matter how it passed – perhaps in a blur, or perhaps dragging one second at a time. But each moment had a different quality, some appointments slipping by without notice and then the next one slowing to a stop as Charlie’s breath ghosted past her ear or their fingers brushed. It was their old rhythm, but these steps in the pattern were new.

She still found that she was surprised when they reached the end of the day. As the last visitor left, Charlie stretched and swayed with a yawn. Her right arm hung motionless at her side, and the Queen felt a pang of worry.

“Your arm?” she asked, nodding toward it.

“Just tired, my queen. I should go home and rest, is all.”

“Ah. But – your new home.” She tried not to smile when Charlie cocked her head in confusion. She had been waiting to reveal this surprise. “I cannot have my Emissary living in squalor. You have new quarters in the royal compound. Do not worry – your things have already been moved.”

“I – thank you, Your Grace.” But Charlie was not as happy as the Queen had imagined she would be. Instead she looked down at her feet, barely hiding a small frown.

“You are not satisfied with this?” she asked, her tone sharp. Did Charlie not want to be closer to her Queen?

“No, I – I am. I just would have liked to know. I would have preferred to move my own things. That’s all. I’m sorry for my response, my queen. I really am grateful.”

“Hm.” She would have to think on this. “You should see your new rooms regardless. Come with me.”

She rose to sweep past Charlie and into the compound. She’d intended to have a guard show Charlie in, to sit in a triumphant portrait as Charlie looked back to thank her over and over for her blessings. But somehow she had made a mistake, and she was determined to find it and right it.

Charlie followed her in near silence, only the occasional huff of breath betraying her presence. The Queen felt as though a cold wall stood between them, and she shivered slightly.

She stopped in a side hall, tapping open the door to a small suite and stepping inside. Charlie remained out in the hall, looking around.

“Those are your rooms,” she said finally, pointing back out toward the main corridor. “Just out there.”

“Yes. Your duties have been expanded to include advising and protecting me in any personal capacity necessary. Close proximity will make that simpler.”

A tense silence hung over them for a moment. Uldren’s betrayal and absence was the unspoken factor in this.

“Yes, my queen,” Charlie said after a moment, and she stepped inside. The Queen watched Charlie’s face as she surveyed the room, hoping to find some hint of what Charlie was thinking. When she found nothing, she turned as well to look the room over.

It was much nicer than Charlie’s old apartment. It wasn’t what one might call cozy, but the rooms were clean and well lit, with new appliances and furniture. She frowned as she saw the kitchen table, where all of Charlie’s things were piled in a lopsided heap. Charlie had stepped up to look through the pile with a frown.

“Are any of your possessions damaged or missing?” Embarrassment and remorse were beyond rare in her experience, but as Charlie looked up with a tight frown, she felt both. This, she realized, was the transgression. It was about control – how could she have missed that?

“No. Everything looks fine.”

“I am sorry.” It was much easier to say if she did not think about it. “You should have been notified. You should have been allowed to collect your own belongings.” She felt as though she was only repeating what Charlie had said to her, but she meant it. Charlie was a woman, not a puppet.

“Thank you.” Charlie’s smile made her stomach twist. It was such easy, unspoken forgiveness. Somehow it seemed unfair.

“If you need nothing else, I will leave you to settle in with your things.” She turned to go, a knot still in her stomach.

“Ah – actually – ” She turned back as Charlie spoke to find her with a shy smile on her face. “If you aren’t busy – I mean, if you’d like to stay. Well, I could use the help. Settling in.”

The Queen felt frozen for a moment as she wrapped her mind around what Charlie had said. No one asked the Queen to simply stay and help them move their things. No one even suggested that. No one dared.

“Yes. I would – what would you have me do?”

The cascade of relief on Charlie’s face was almost comical. They both had felt how close she had stepped to the line. But that tiny moment of danger had also been refreshing. No one dared ask such a thing – except Charlie.

“If you could just – I think that bag is kitchen things, if you want to put frying pans and plates away. Or – or you could help me with my clothes. Whatever Your Grace wants.” She was back to the carefulness of titles and pliability. But this ground was so new that a step back was almost comforting.

“I am sure I can manage putting up dishes,” she said, doing her best to remain aloof as Charlie handed her the duffel bag. The weight was surprising and strange, and as Charlie hefted three bags in her one good arm and strolled off to the bedroom, she felt a stab of jealousy. What a life that must be, to be so simple and strong. To be without the trappings of queenhood.

She emptied the bag slowly, searching through the unfamiliar kitchen for where she thought Charlie might want her things. Charlie seemed content to hum and shuffle clothes in the other room – not quite what the Queen had expected when Charlie had asked her to stay. Of course, what else was there to expect? She ought to stay away from idle fantasies. She opened a cabinet under the stove with a bit more force than was necessary.

“Here, let me help.” She barely had time to look over before Charlie had taken a pan gently from her hands and tucked it into the cabinet. The Queen blinked, shocked again by Charlie's audacity. But she couldn’t imagine being angry as Charlie smiled and held out a hand for another dish. “It’ll go faster this way.”

There was something so bizarre about the domesticity of the scene. Charlie had sat down on the floor, reaching up to take dishes and put them away with a small smile on her face. The Queen ached in some way for this to be not Charlie’s kitchen, but their kitchen, the both of them – as if this could ever be something they were building together. As if she could ever have the safety and simplicity of a normal life.

All too soon, she was holding an empty bag. Charlie pulled herself to her feet with a grunt and then took it from her. For a moment her hand covered the Queen’s, her fingers sure and warm.

“That is all?” the Queen asked. She looked around the kitchen. Somehow all the other bags had already disappeared.

“Yes. Thank you for staying, my queen. I’m honored.”

“Yes. Well.” There were no formalities to fall back on here. “I could hardly leave you to struggle for yourself while you are injured.” She let herself smile just a little as Charlie beamed.

“If I may ask one more thing?” Charlie’s quick bow was a welcome signal to return to business, and the Queen straightened.

“Speak it.”

“I would ask leave to return to the Tower in a few days’ time. An urgent matter has come up and I need to address it in person. I only need a day.” The worry was plain on her face.

“Then go, with my blessing.” The words were missing something that she could not place. She reached the door before she found it and turned, feeling oddly vulnerable. “And be safe, Charlie.”

She caught a glimpse of Charlie’s joy before she fled, slipping away to her own quarters – her own life.


	12. (.5) There Was A Time

A bright light shined through her window. It wasn’t supposed to be light now. Charlie peered past the edge of her covers as the light came closer, knocking up against the panes with a sharp rapping sound. She pressed against the wall, hoping to hide. It wasn’t supposed to be light.

The light moved away, down the hill past the bushes to the basement door. Something was wrong and she didn’t know what. Many, many frightened heartbeats passed as she waited. She waited. She waited.

Beau began to bark, deep and loud as his paws pounded across the floor to the stairs. He had heard the noises Charlie was afraid of. Footsteps on the basement stairs, louder now as they moved faster. Beau barking as the latch rattled and her mother and father’s footsteps joined the ruckus.

Ikora was at her side, eyes wide with fear. She took Charlie’s shoulders and hugged her tightly to still her shaking.

“Baby, I need you to hide now. You know your cool spot under the bed? I need you to go down there and don’t move or come out no matter what, okay? Don’t make a sound.” She’d never seen Ikora like this, and tears welled up in her eyes. She didn’t like it.

“What’s happening? Who’s in the basement? Momma?” But Ikora was gone.

WE ARE COMING FROM BELOW WE WAIT

She crawled under her bed and behind her bins of toys, her heart pounding. No one could find her here, not even Beau. Suddenly amid the barking and the shouting, there was a sound like a mighty crash. The barking stopped.

She heard Zavala roar, didn’t understand his words, but another crash cut off the sound. Then Ikora’s voice, a defiant shout.

“Don’t you dare!” Crash.

Footsteps now, quiet but still heavy. Slow. She heard a whine from out in the hall. Was Beau hurt? But Momma had said don’t move for anything, so Charlie didn’t.

“I know you’re here, little one,” came the voice with the light and the crash.

I KNOW YOU HEAR ME, LITTLE LIGHT

The footsteps passed her door. Paused. Came back.

“Are you in here? I’ll find you, you know. Might as well make it short.” The voice giggled. Charlie didn’t understand what was funny. She held her breath until the footsteps walked past again, tears running down her face. She didn’t want them to come back.

The footsteps walked down to her mother and father’s room. Paused.

“Are you in here, little one?” came the voice from down the hall. Another giggle.

I WILL FIND YOU LITTLE LIGHT THERE IS NO HIDING IN THIS WRECKAGE OF A KINGDOM

A wail in the distance. At first she thought it was Beau again, and she pressed both hands to her mouth to quiet a sob. The footsteps in the hall paused.

The wailing was growing very loud and very close and suddenly there was light everywhere, spilling through her windows and over her floor to cast black, shivering shadows in front of her. The footsteps pounded down the hall.

“I’ll find you, little one! They can’t save you, I’ll find you first!” The voice was loud and angry now, and Charlie shrank back into the darkest corner under the bed. The footsteps pounded back into her room and threw open her closet as voices shouted outside.

Clothes fell to the floor in front of her, ripped from her closet and tossed aside. Her winter coat. Her Easter suit. The sweater Rinko had given her on the last day of second grade. The clothes stopped. The footsteps turned. She saw a knee and a hand touch the floor.

Crash.

The man toppled sideways, his eyes wide and empty as they met Charlie’s. A smile almost spread across his face. Then nothing.

I SEE YOU

“You under there, hon?” A different voice. A different foot shoved the man aside, a red smear following him across the floor, and then knelt. A face blocked the light. Cayde. “Hey there. You sure did a good job of hiding.”

“Momma said don’t come out no matter what.” Her voice was small and shaking. Momma had said don’t make a sound, but if this man already saw her it didn’t matter.

“It’s alright, honey. I’m an officer with the police. You’ve learned about the police in school, right? We’re here to help.” Cayde shifted to lay flat against the floor and then slowly reach a hand out toward her. The red smear disappeared underneath him.

“Momma said don’t come out.” But she had to check on Beau. She had to check on Beau and Momma and Daddy, she had to know they were alright and ask them what the crashes were. “Where’s Momma?”

I WILL TAKE YOUR REEF

A pause. Cayde looked at her. The light behind him swirled and shivered.

“Why don’t you just come on out, now. Atta girl.” Cayde’s hand was cold and firm as she took it and crawled out of her hiding place. He helped her stand and then put his arm around her shoulders. “It’s going to be alright, now. Don’t you worry.”

“Where’s Momma? Where’s Daddy?” There were voices all over the house now, but none of them were Zavala’s or Ikora’s. They were low and sad and Charlie wondered why Beau wasn’t barking with so many people inside.

“Let’s get you one of these nice blankets,” Cayde said, reaching to take a blanket from a woman who had just walked in, but Charlie pulled away from him and ran out into the hall. She had to find them.

The floor in front of the basement door was covered in blood, dark red in smears and pools as people in jackets stepped around it. Momma and Daddy and Beau were nowhere to be found. Charlie looked around through the crowd wildly, trying in vain to find them. Cayde’s voice rang out from the other room.

“Hey, someone get the kid out of there!”

A big, wheeled cart sat by the wall with someone sprawled across it. Zavala.

“Daddy!” She ran to him, dodging the outstretched arms of the jacket people to take his hand. Blood ran down his finger. He didn’t hold her hand back. When she breathed in there was an awful stink, like metal and meat and rotten things. Cayde’s hands pried her fingers off Zavala’s, dragged her away as she began to scream and cry, kicking to get loose.

I WILL TAKE YOUR TOWER

Outside it was muggy and dark, the spinning lights of the police cars whipping past her and lighting up the lawn in bursts. She sat in the back of an ambulance with a blanket across her shoulders.

“Drink some water. It’ll help.” Cayde held out a cup as he approached. She took it and looked down at its contents. The water was black. It shivered and splashed against the sides of the cup and then spilled over, freezing rivulets running down her hands.

“What’s this?” she asked, looking back up at him. Something flickered inside the gears of his face and began to creep over his eye.

“It’s water.”

“Cayde. This isn’t water. This isn’t – what is it doing?” It was spilling over the edges more quickly now, the black liquid pouring out without end to cover her fingers with icy numbness.

“It’s what you asked for. Just drink it, you’ll feel better.” The blight spilled from his mouth as he spoke, Taken energy crawling across his face. He cocked his head. “Don’t you want it?”

I WILL TAKE EVERYTHING

“No! No, I don’t, take it back!” She tried to drop the cup but her hands were stuck to its sides as the liquid climbed up her arms. “Take it back!”

“Too late, baby.” Ikora stood behind Cayde, a hole in her chest so wide Charlie could see through it. “You’re always too late, aren’t you?”

“You’ll never be strong enough, will you?” Zavala, his intestines spilling out of his stomach and onto Charlie’s father’s slippers.

“Never good enough.” Cayde shook his head and gave a chiding tsk. “Shame.”

“No, no, take it back!” Charlie’s right arm went numb as the liquid reached her neck. The familiar pain stabbed through her shoulder. “Take it back!”

I WILL TAKE YOU


	13. You Can't Go Home Again

The hum of atmosphere around her jumpship was almost unfamiliar as Charlie headed down toward the Tower, catching glimpses of the landscape between the sparks of friction that burst across her windshield. The expanses of white and green and blue were a strange sight after her months in the Reef.

Almost a year, in fact. The realization sent a jolt of shock through her stomach like a lance. It seemed like an impossible amount of time – a year since she last saw the Traveler hanging frozen above the City, a year since she said goodbye to the mountains and the lakes. It had seemed like so much to give up when she left. Now it seemed like too much to come back to.

The angle of descent for the Tower hangar was still first in her autopilot menu, and she keyed in the command with more nervousness than excitement. What if the Tower had changed? What if the people were different? She would have to go see Tel and admit that she had broken his favorite gun. She could imagine his face now, and the lecture she would have to sit through. She could imagine his dramatic sigh as he forgave her and wrapped her in one of his awkward, bony hugs. He would likely fix it and give it back to her before she left, along with a stern reprimand to be more careful this time.

She stood to prepare for transmat, clipping her helmet to her side and taking a deep breath. She knew none of it would be as bad as she feared, but she felt a knot of anxiety tighten in her stomach as the all clear light flashed green.

The Tower was bustling as usual as she landed with a grunt and two more Guardians transmatted in behind her and immediately took off at a sprint toward Rahool. Ghosts whirred past on their Vanguard errands and a thin, cold wind blew over her face, smelling of rock and snow. She felt a rush of relief at the familiarity.

She saw both old and new faces as she wove her way through the crowds, and a few Guardians waved a casual hello as she passed. It would be like she had never left if not for the sharp throbs of pain in her shoulder. Being so close to the Traveler, to so many Guardians, made the barely healed edges of her wound burn.

The Vanguard Hall was nearly empty, with only a few Guardians scurrying past the usual fixtures. The reason why became clear as Charlie reached the bottom of the stairs and saw down to the great table in the far room. Zavala, Ikora, and Cayde were clustered by the back of the table, arguing in quiet but furious voices. A word here and there was enough to tell this was one of their usual spats over tactics or recon. Having such different minds together at the helm could be both a blessing and a curse.

Shaxx gave her a small salute as she hesitated, trying to gauge how much longer the argument might run. It seemed best to leave for now and come back. She could look for Tel in his lab and speak to Ikora later.

Now that she wasn’t in a rush, though, there was another friend she should meet. She headed back to the entrance of the Hall, careful to let her boots rap on the stone floor. She halted with a clack at the edge of Eris Morn’s carpet, just in time to catch the barest hint of a smile as it flashed across Eris’s face.

“I can see your Light. You do not need to accommodate for me." She reached out a hand and Charlie did the same, touching her fingers to Eris’s palm in greeting. She looked Eris over with a critical eye. It was hard to tell much under her bulky robes, but it seemed she had gotten better about eating and sleeping. Charlie knew she had Ikora’s efforts to thank for that.

“You look well,” she said. Or at least well enough for a woman who ought by any logic to be dead. Charlie had come face to face with that kind of death as well, and she knew what Eris was the day she stepped into the Tower with her warning. Eris had known Charlie, too.

It had been many years now since Charlie went to the Moon. She didn’t remember exactly how many. But she remembered the shame and desperation that had driven her there, seeking a fighting death and anonymity. She had been so young back then, a star in the Crucible with all her fame and fortune on the line. Reaching the professional Vanguard championships was spectacular at her age – some mix of raw talent, energy, and luck had carried her past veteran fighters with ease.

And then she had failed. On live broadcast, in front of her mentor and her City and her peers. She’d choked and lost everything when she should have succeeded with flying colors. In retrospect it seemed so small and silly, but to a young Guardian whose whole world had been about winning, defeat was crushing. She’d fled in the hopes that the world would forget her, and that she would forget as well.

She hadn’t counted on the Moon or the Hive. She’d been sheltered; pampered. The caverns were almost a fairy tale, and the Hive just a ghost story. She hadn’t counted on the dull slam of doors behind her as she crept into the tunnels. She hadn’t counted on being trapped.

A Hunter and a Titan survived in different ways; Eris had gone deeper, finding the darkest parts of the Darkness to hide in, but Charlie had fought. She’d watched the doors, defending and waiting with the patience of a stone. A Guardian could make her rations last a long time; a clever Guardian could make her gear last even longer. By the time the doors opened she was exhausted, broken, cobbled together. She’d eaten things and scavenged things whose stench would never leave, and there was barely more human in her than Hive. But she was alive, and she’d stumbled home with her Light burning low and Spark clutched to her chest.

She’d recovered as Eris couldn’t, but it had left its scars and its memories. There was no mistaking the smell and the grit of Eris’s arrival. They were drawn to each other, comrades in something that need not even be spoken.

Now she could see Eris inspecting her just as she’d inspected Eris, though it was a different kind of looking. The Darkness that sat in her shoulder would be obvious to Eris, who saw the world in Light and Dark. It would be a black stain on Charlie’s usual pillar of fire.

Eris reached up to feel Charlie’s shoulder with fumbling hands. There was little she could find through Charlie’s armor, but Charlie leaned over nonetheless and let Eris poke at her neck until she pulled back, satisfied. Charlie straightened as well, anxious to hear what she had to say.

“A thorn buried under your skin,” Eris said with a frown. “A shard of the Blight itself. What happened?”

“I was attacked. Somehow the knife was infused with Taken taint.” She shuddered and rubbed her shoulder. Her arm was already tired. “I’m not sure what to do.”

Eris reached up again, working her fingers under the edge of Charlie’s armor. Charlie grimaced. Eris’s fingers were cold and clammy, and the Hive smell was unavoidable when they stood this close. She hissed in pain as Eris poked a finger into the wound with her usual disregard. When she withdrew her hand, Charlie felt a cold trail like slime on Eris’s fingertips, and as she pulled away Charlie saw it – Darkness swirling and clinging like smoke to Eris’s hand. Her wound felt cold and raw, and she knew that Darkness had come from inside her.

“I have done all I can,” Eris said, her voice calm and casual as if Charlie was not suddenly weak in the knees and choking down the urge to vomit. She wasn’t sure whether it was the sight of the Darkness or the sudden awareness of the open flesh in her wound, but she stumbled to the rail and leaned heavily on it as she tried to regain control of her body. Eris waited, her face blank as she shifted in her usual anxious rhythm.

Charlie wasn't sure how long it had been when her vision faded back in. She was sitting on the floor, pressed into the corner of Eris’s little nook. Her arm was freezing cold and the muscles ached, but as she flexed her fingers she realized that much of her mobility had returned. Her arm was still stiff, but she no longer felt as though she was fighting her own body each time she moved.

“Thank you,” she croaked as she waited for the strength to stand. Eris turned, and as Charlie pulled herself to her feet, she held out a hand. Above it floated a small green bubble, a miniature version of her own. The Darkness she pulled from Charlie’s shoulder writhed inside.

“This belongs to you.”

Charlie took it after a moment of hesitation. It was warm and smooth to the touch, and as she opened her hand it rose to float a few inches above her palm. She looked it over and then tucked it into the pouch on her belt.

“I guess I’ll know what to do with it when the time comes.” Eris’s moments of prophecy were always vague but never wrong. If she thought Charlie should have it, Charlie would keep it.

“Yes. Stay safe.” She reached out a hand.

“Stay hidden.” Charlie touched their fingers together again and then turned. The voices floating down the hall had quieted, and she was hoping her meeting with Eris had given the Vanguard time to sort out their differences of opinion. She thought of Tel again and sighed. He could wait, of course, but he would certainly be grumpy when he found out she had come to see him last.

The Vanguard Hall was bright and quiet. Guardian traffic had not yet resumed, so the only sounds were the muttering and shifting of its inhabitants, each lost in their own world. Each of the Vanguard looked up at her in turn as she approached – Cayde with a lazy wave, Zavala with an almost imperceptible frown, and finally Ikora, whose expression Charlie could not read. Then she was smiling, and she held out a hand to beckon Charlie over.

“It is so good to see you again,” she said, touching Charlie’s shoulder. “We have much to talk about.”

Charlie felt a rush of relief. Ikora could help her; Ikora could make this right. Ikora had always been there for Charlie with open arms when she needed it. She had been there when Charlie came back from the Moon, and she had fought for Charlie to return to duty in the face of Zavala’s distrust. Though technically as a Titan Charlie was under Zavala’s command, it was always Ikora that she turned to and reported to.

“You got my message?” she asked, fidgeting. She’d included as much as she felt secure mentioning in the transmission, and undoubtedly Ikora had found the rest out for herself.

“Of course. It sounds like a grave situation. How are you faring?”

“I’m… fine.” There was too much in her mind even to tell Ikora. Her dreams, the Queen, the bubble of Darkness that now rested in her pocket. Most of it Ikora surely knew, or would know soon. The rest of it Charlie wanted to keep to herself.

“That is good to hear. I have Warlocks ready to join you – I was simply waiting for your return. You’ll see to it that they reach the right place?”

“Yes, of course, and we’ll have accommodations waiting. It’s all been approved.” It felt strange and daring to be talking to Ikora like this – on equal terms, about serious matters. Even before she had left for the Reef, she’d still felt like a student. But the power and gravity of her new position had stripped away all the easy childishness of running regular Vanguard business.

“Good. I’ll see to it that they meet you in the Reef when they arrive. Thank you, Charlie.”

Cayde rapped a finger on the table with a sharp crack that echoed through the room. Charlie snapped her head around to look at him, but he did not look up from his map. When she glanced back at Ikora, she saw a deep frown on her face.

“You going to tell her?” Cayde asked, making a show of looking over a sector in the bottom right corner.

“Cayde.”

“I’m just saying, now. Someone ought to. If you want to treat her like an adult, Ikora, you’ve got to go all the way. No hiding things.”

Charlie looked back and forth between the two of them, anxiety rising in her throat.

“What is it?” she asked, her throat dry. It was rare that Ikora would dance around anything.

“Tel Kassa is dead.” Zavala’s voice was a terse rumble from across the room, the first time he had spoken directly to her in many years. A coldness like white light rose at the edge of her vision, and her body ached with fear. When Zavala looked up, his frozen expression seemed to soften for just a moment. “I’m sorry, Guardian. Emissary.”

Charlie felt as though she would fall over for the second time that day. Her stomach was in turmoil. She couldn’t possibly have heard that right. This couldn’t be happening.

“What – what happened? What happened to him?” It was all she could do to keep her face straight and her voice from shaking.

“He was on a research trip to the Hellmouth. The Hive overwhelmed him. I am so sorry, Charlie.” Ikora took her hand but Charlie barely felt it. Her whole body was numb. Tel was really gone? Not just gone but taken by the Hive, destroyed by Charlie’s own nightmare. Tel was gone. The thought rushed around her head like a whirlwind, wiping everything else out.

“I should get back to the Reef,” she said, unable to look up from the table. She needed to be alone with this – she needed to go home, for suddenly the Tower seemed too bright and too empty to be a place where she belonged.

“You can take all the time you need here. Let yourself grieve.”

“No. I need – I have a job to do. Her Grace expects me back.”

Ikora searched Charlie’s face for a moment and then let go of her hand.

“Of course. Be well, Charlie. I am here if you ever wish to speak to me.”

Charlie turned and stumbled out of the Hall before pulling Spark up to initiate transmat. It blinked at her, its shell drawn down in dismay.

“He’s gone,” it said, its voice tinny and quiet. Charlie reached up to scratch the top of its shell.

“We’ll get through this,” she said, though her hands were trembling. “Let’s go home, Spark.”

\--

The throne room was empty and still without Charlie’s presence. The Queen felt the loss strangely, like the room had become immensely large now that she was gone. Her own voice and the voices of her audiences seemed to echo on and on, down into the depths and up to the ceiling.

It was strange. Once, those echoes had pleased her. She’d taken pride in the vastness of the room, the grandeur of it. She’d watched with glee the awed expressions of her subjects and visitors, reveled in the feeling of being the only fixture of import in the entire massive space. It was picturesque. Royal. It was everything she’d wanted to be and to appear. Uldren, somehow, had made the space even larger. He was a spy, after all, and always twisting out of sight and into hiding. She seemed even more luminous next to him, even more powerful and graceful.

But Charlie. The thought of her settled over the Queen like a thick blanket on her shoulders. Charlie had filled the space to the brim with all her energy and power. The Reef was cold and had always been cold, but Charlie radiated heat like a flame. She hadn’t realized she was used to the warmth until Charlie went away.

She closed her eyes and shook her head ever so slightly. The melodrama of it all was almost comical. Here she was, missing Charlie like a child would. Even when Charlie was injured and at home, she’d been just a whim away; she was within reach and within control. But there was no going to the Tower to collect her like a lost suitcase. She simply had to wait, and the Queen was not used to waiting for what she wanted.

“My queen.”

Her eyes flicked up. For a moment the voice, the tone had reminded her of Charlie’s. But it was only Petra, kneeling before her with her usual meekness. When Petra looked up, the Queen waved a bored hand in her direction.

“Speak.”

“My queen, I’m here to give Charlie’s daily report in her absence. Guardian business is proceeding as usual, and we’ve received no more reports of House of Exile activity. They seem to have retreated back to the Moon and are unlikely to return.”

“And why would they do such a thing as that?” she said to herself, the question barely audible. For a moment she expected Charlie to lean over and answer with one of her bad jokes; perhaps they had forgotten something at home and needed to go get it. Perhaps they had left the oven on. But the silence was remembrance.

“I – I don’t know, my queen,” Petra stammered, and the Queen realized that Petra had heard her speak. Her brow furrowed in annoyance.

“Of course not. Dismissed.” She waved a hand again, eager to finish the day’s meetings. As she glanced over she caught Petra’s look of dismay and felt pity rise in her stomach. Poor Petra, whose place at the Queen’s right hand had been taken by an outsider – though to the Queen’s discerning eye it seemed that Petra’s feelings for Charlie now ran in a different vein than resentment. She should at least placate enough of Petra’s sorrow to keep her under control. “You have my thanks, my Paladin. You have done well.”

Petra's expression lifted immediately, and she beamed at the Queen as she bowed her way out. The reminder of her own power was satisfying, and the Queen leaned back in her throne with a small smile. She had absolute control here and everywhere – except Charlie. Charlie certainly bowed and smiled on command and hung on the Queen’s every word, just as everyone did and should. But that was not enough. Each time she watched Charlie move with all the power of a well-oiled war machine, she was reminded of the unbridled rage on Charlie’s face as she held Uldren over the edge. Each quirk of Charlie’s lips into a smile was a reminder of the small defiance in her dissatisfaction with her new room. Moments both monumental and insignificant built a clear picture of Charlie’s autonomy, and the thought roused a feeling in the Queen that was something like fear.

After all, she knew what happened when her control slipped. She knew the consequences of allowing her subjects freedom. But Charlie had never seemed a threat – not to her, anyway. For all that she could likely tear the court apart with only her hands before anyone could stop her, Charlie had only ever looked at the Queen with gentleness.

It was jarring to think that Charlie’s obedience was a choice. She could always leave and walk back to the Vanguard, and that was the best case scenario. She could easily attempt to stage a Guardian-led coup or undermine the Reef’s relationship with its allies. Charlie was in a unique position to overturn everything at the Queen’s fingertips, a position that only her brother had ever been trusted enough to occupy. And Charlie was not under her control.

But even more than the fear was a strange, uplifting feeling. An absolute faith in Charlie’s loyalty. Not in her own control over Charlie’s loyalty, but in Charlie herself. She would, of course, be ready for betrayal, just as she had learned to always be. But the possibility seemed ridiculous. The warmth of Charlie’s hands, the scent of her skin, her smile as they greeted each other – these things somehow grew an unshakeable trust.

The Queen rose and her guards snapped to attention. Her audiences were done for the day, and she wanted to be alone. She wanted to leave this cavernous space until Charlie returned to fill it again. She slipped through the halls of the compound, her footsteps quiet. She ought to visit her brother, ought to speak to him again. Here was another reason she could not understand her faith in Charlie – this unthinkable betrayal ought to leave her less trusting, not more. Though perhaps it was his absence, his new animosity, that made her long for Charlie’s companionship. After all, why couldn’t a Queen mourn? Was a Queen less deserving of the comfort of an embrace?

She paused as she reached the hall that led to Charlie’s room. It was so close to her own, closer than she had realized when she chose it. The thought made the hairs on the back of her neck raise with a feeling she didn’t care to identify. It would be a simple matter to duck into Charlie’s room and rifle through her things, to check for any hint of betrayal or genuine affection or any evidence to satisfy whatever nebulous desire for knowledge she found herself struggling with. It would be so easy to go and search through drawers for any scrap of Charlie to find and keep.

With a deliberate tap of her boots, she whirled around and stalked away from the hall, shaking the whole thought process from her mind. How embarrassing, to ponder something like that. It was far below her to think of stealing trinkets from Charlie like some child with a crush, and just as far below to think of disrespecting her own Emissary’s privacy. Perhaps instead – she could not stop the thought in time – she could ask Charlie for a token of her affection, some reminder of her. The Queen’s face flushed, though no one was around to see this lapse of self-control. There was no need for such a thing.

It was only muscle memory that kept her from walking past her own door on accident. She keyed through and then paused as it hissed and slammed shut behind her. Here was another empty space that haunted her. Her brother’s rooms in the suite were still and unlit, his things scattered untouched across his desk in the main room. There was no life in this place, and it made her heartbeat feel hollow in her chest.

She had never needed to think about what it would be like to miss her brother. He had always been by her side, always been a stalwart ally. She’d entrusted him with everything, even with the responsibility of conducting court in her absence. Now she could barely face him. She thought of how he looked, huddled in the back of a prison cell with his wrists chained. The brother she loved did not have such a manic gleam in his eye, did not shudder and laugh when she tried to speak with him. The cold fear she felt when she stood in front of him made her sick with horror and sorrow. She just wanted Uldren back, just wanted to trust him again. He was her _brother_.

She turned a light on in the hopes of bringing some light, some comfort to the room. Perhaps – again a thought too quick to silence, and it brought a twang of anxiety and desire to her stomach – she could invite Charlie. There were, after all, utensils for cooking. Places to sit. What a silly idea.

She sat at her own desk with a huff and buried herself in the paperwork that was always waiting for approval. Charlie would return tomorrow, and with luck her brother would soon come around, even repent. Then, finally, she could begin to fill these spaces.


	14. (.5) Quite As It Seems

Siberia was always cold. Summer barely rose above chilly, and winter dropped well below freezing. It was cold as hell. Colder, even.

“I’ve been in space, and this shithole arctic desert is colder than space,” Kiki always said, every night as they huddled in the mess tent around the kerosene stove.

“Fuck off, Ki. Nobody believes you’ve been in space.” Big Jack scratched his nuts through his cammies and then shoved another piece of toast covered in beans into his mouth. They all knew going to space required years of special training and hundreds of aptitude tests. Only special forces went into space.

“I believe you’ve been to space,” Uldren said, mixing up beans and jerky on his plate.

“Well don’t go whipping your dick out, man, holy shit.” Dre looked up at him disbelief, shaking his head. “She’s not gonna sleep with your ugly ass just because you say you believe her.”

“I’m gay,” Uldren said, flipping Dre the bird. “I just think Kiki looks like she’s secret SF. I really believe it. Her and Tucker.”

“I told you a hundred times, man. I’m not special forces.” Tucker sat with a can of motor oil at his feet, rubbing a cloth over the pistons in his leg. “Chuck is, though.”

“Chuck’s not SF,” Jack said with a snort.

“Sure I am.” Charlie grinned at Jack from across the fire, the light of the flames flickering across her face. “They trained me special just to sneak in your house and steal your girl, fucker.”

Jack snorted as the rest of the group burst in to laughter. Charlie chuckled as well, scraping the last of the beans off her plate. When she was done she tossed her dishes in the bin that sat behind the group, just out of the fire’s light. For a moment they seemed to twist and flicker in the shadows, but when she blinked it disappeared.

“Don’t say goodbye to that plate too fast,” Dre said. “You’re on dish duty. You, too.” He pointed at Uldren. The two of them looked over at each other and groaned.

“This is discrimination,” Charlie said, picking a piece of jerky out of her teeth. “Make Tucker do it.”

“No backtalk. Chores rotation is always the same.”

“If you pay me fifty dollars I’ll switch with you,” Tucker said, his mouth lighting up in an Exo smile. “You can clean trucks at oh-four hundred tomorrow.”

“Anyway,” Charlie said, taking the pile of the others’ dirty dishes as Jack handed them to her. “I guess I’ll go do dishes now.”

“Glad we settled that,” Dre said, rolling his eyes. “Don’t get lost.”

Charlie dumped the dishes in the bin and then donned her outdoor gear as Uldren did the same – boots, coat, gloves, hat, and a thermo mask pulled up over her nose to keep her breath from freezing as it came out of her mouth. Cold seemed to have gotten colder lately.

They stepped out of the tent and into the whirling snow, sealing the flap behind them. Dre’s warning not to get lost hadn’t been a joke. Charlie flicked on the battery lamp that sat next to the tent flap and acted as a beacon in case they wandered away.

The dishwashing station was in its own tent a little ways away from the main shelter. Charlie pulled the rubber washing gloves on over her winter gear before pouring a little hot water into the sink. They needed to be careful with their resources; they had another three weeks until a supply run and two months left out in the field. When she glanced down to check how full the sink was, the water was black and thick like sludge. Charlie blinked and shook her head, and in an instant it was back to normal.

“I’m going to fucking die,” Uldren said, flicking bits of food off the dirty plates with a rag. “It’s too fucking cold.”

Charlie laughed. Uldren was always so melodramatic. When it was cold, he was going to die. When it was hot, he was going to die. When they did push-ups, when they ate beans for the third day in a row, when the showers cut off before he was done – he was going to die. She blinked. Was it Uldren?

“The faster you hand me dishes, the faster we get back to the insulation,” she said, holding out a hand. He grumbled and passed over a plate, and Charlie dipped it into the water with a frown. She flexed the fingers of her right hand. All of the layers she was wearing made her hand feel like it was going numb.

“You ever think about what if we got trapped out here?” Uldren asked, handing her some forks. Charlie snorted. “No, really. What if a blizzard kicked up and we got buried and then we just died?”

“Uldren…” she shook her head as she dumped dishes into the clean bin. “You’re too much.” A plate slipped from her hand with a clatter, and she glanced over at her hand with a frown. From underneath the rubber glove, she could see the flickering of Taken blight like flame. She cocked her head and then flexed her fingers again. It was working fine now, so she shrugged and picked up another plate.

“You don’t think that’s a legitimate fear?” he asked. “This is a war. In the middle of Russia, for fuck’s sake. History says we’re probably going to die.”

“History didn’t have the Traveler.” She pointed up to indicate its general direction, and as she did so she noticed blight dripping from her elbow. It was creeping farther up. She looked over at Uldren again. Blight covered his boots like dirty snow and danced along his shadow.

“Sure, but aren’t we still human? All of us, in our own ways? Humans always make the same mistakes. We always do the same shit, Chuck. It just takes one push.”

“One push. We’re all fallible.” She stared down at the plate in her hands. Snow must have blown under her collar because she could feel something freezing cold dripping down her back. Uldren held out a plate with a twitching, black hand, and when she took it the Darkness jumped to her own fingers as well. She dipped the plate in the water. Both her hands now roiled with blight.

“Yeah, like, think about Napoleon. He thought he was going to be emperor. Just marched right into the Russian wilderness, yeah? He was so caught up in himself he didn’t even see it coming. Just lost everything, you know?” He looked over at Charlie. The blight was creeping up his neck.

“You’d think we’d know better,” Charlie said. Another plate slipped from her hands. She fumbled in the water with stiff fingers, trying to pick the plate back up.

“We never think it’ll happen until it already has. Until we’re already in too deep.” The blight was creeping over Uldren’s face, but he didn’t seem to notice. Charlie felt a cold tickle under her own mask.

You never see it coming.

“Not until it's too late.”


	15. Quid Pro Quo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, everyone! it's been over a year since i updated, and for that i am deeply sorry. my computer troubles lasted into the new year, which has seen me gain a wonderful partner, lose a family member, travel across the country, find a new job, and both begin and finish the incredible journey of Destiny 2. i hope you can all forgive me for the unintentional hiatus, but i do hope to be back for real. i love this story and all of you too much to not finish it! i can't guarantee a regular schedule like i used to keep up, but i do promise to see this through to its end. all that said, here's the new chapter, a year in the making! don't forget to see the end of the chapter for a few story-related notes.

Charlie couldn’t believe what she was about to do. 

Then again, she really wasn’t surprised. Uldren was the question, but he was also the answer, and she’d known since the Labs that she would have to talk to him again. If only that made it easier. 

The prison was cold, much colder than the rest of the Reef. It sat at the edge of the Vestian settlement, its back walls pressed right up against the void of space. This place was not as exciting or as glamorous as the Prison of Elders; it was simply a jail, full of criminals. And Uldren, Prince of them all, sat below. 

The clank of the guard’s boots on the metal stairs made Charlie flinch each time the sound rang out. She had arrived home from the Tower last night, and instead of sleeping she had sat at her kitchen table, still in her armor, and stared at her bubble full of Darkness. It had been soothing, somehow, to watch the shadows writhe and flicker. Mesmerizing. She didn’t have to think about Tel, dead. Tel, who had been her brother in arms for years upon years. His hand cannon still sat heavy in the pouch at her side, forever broken without its master to mend it. 

It had been morning before she knew it, and she was still frozen as she had been when she sat down the night before. There were tears on her face, though she didn’t remember crying. She’d risen, stiff and cold, and gone through the motions of her morning routine, passing over breakfast and trudging to work with a gurgling stomach. The morning had faded into afternoon as she fought to focus and stay conscious, her advices to the Queen becoming more and more incoherent as the court dragged on. Finally the Queen had rapped a finger on the arm of her throne and looked at Charlie with a sharp expression. 

“Go home,” she’d said, and somehow her voice was soft. “You are undoubtedly ill.” 

Charlie had bowed, oily sweat clinging to her face, and then retreated into the compound with relief. But instead of returning to her rooms, she’d turned and headed deeper. 

“Ma’am.” The guard stopped, waving her hand at a thick metal door set deep in the wall. This idea seemed much worse and more bizarre than it had at the start. She gave a terse nod and the guard keyed in a passcode before pushing the door open with a creak. 

The room was dim and cold, encased entirely in sheets of the all-purpose aluminum alloy mined out of the nearby asteroids. Charlie’s reflection was blurred in the cloudy surface of the metal, and the only irregularities were the occasional seam between the plates. A metal grid cut through the middle of the room, the squares between the bars just wide enough to fit a hand through. And at the very back, wedged into a corner like an afterthought, was a tattered bed and a dark figure huddled on top of it. 

The slam of the door behind her echoed into silence. She waited, her lungs struggling with the thin air of the prison, and watched as the figure shifted and Uldren’s pale eyes glinted in the darkness. If there was one thing she knew about Uldren, it was that – Taken or no Taken – he couldn’t keep his mouth shut for long. 

“You’re a long way from home, Guardian.” His teeth seemed abnormally sharp and white in the shadows. 

“I could say the same to you.” 

“Could you? You’re the one who put me here, after all. Surely you must think I belong.” 

“You put yourself here, Uldren.” It sounded condescending and simplistic even to her. But he had; he’d made his own choices. Whatever strange influences were acting on him to force his hand didn’t change that. 

“I suppose I did.” He leaned back into the darkness but she could still see his nose curl, twisting his smirk into disgust. 

More silence stretched between them, Charlie doing her best to muffle her shaky breaths. The exhaustion and the low oxygen made her head spin. For a man who couldn't stop talking, Uldren seemed to be doing a very good job of keeping his mouth shut. But as she made eye contact with him through the cell grate, his eyes spoke a plea for him. 

"I need you to help me, Uldren." She had undoubtedly lost her mind. Nothing could be less sound than consulting, let alone relying on, a man this unstable. She was grasping at straws, clinging desperately to any flimsy clue. 

"'Help.'" He stared at her with his brow furrowed, and his eyes somehow seemed more focused, more alert. 

"You know the most out of anyone. You were there for the experiments – yes, I know about them." A sharp frown had twisted his face as she spoke. "Petra showed me." 

"That fool woman." He turned his head to stare into the shadows with a snarl. "She's as guilty as I." 

"Guilty of what? Of trapping the Witches? Of trying to harness the Taken? What did you two do?" She could see his jaw clench, the muscles in his face popping into sharp relief in the stark light. She watched the muscles flex as he ground his teeth and then swallowed. When his mouth opened, his words were barely a whisper. 

"It spoke." 

"What spoke? What did you speak to? What demon did you make a deal with, Uldren?" Silence. His words whirled in a panic around her head. It spoke. It spoke. It spoke. She took a deep breath and tried to soften her face, held out a hand. "Uldren, if you can help me, I can let the Queen know. I can redeem you, get you out of here." When his head whipped around, she knew she had said the wrong thing. 

“Does that make you feel noble, Guardian?” He asked with a sneer. “Pitying me? Begging the Queen to show some mercy to her poor, disgraced brother? Are you assured of your self-righteousness?” 

"I only meant –" 

"What does family even mean to you? You have nothing, no ties, no bonds like mine! You have lost nothing, and I have lost everything! How dare you speak of my sister and I as if you know anything of the lives you have shattered!" His voice rose to a roar as he flung himself against the bars with a clang and gripped them so tightly that his knuckles turned a bloodless white. 

Charlie let her eyes drift from his face, a treacherous sorrow rising up in her throat. She couldn’t even muster rage – just a dull, angry sob that came out sounding like a choked laugh. 

“Let me tell you something, Uldren Sov.” Perhaps it was his name that made him flinch, or perhaps the sharp clack of her boot as she stood and stepped toward him. “I knew a man once who I called my brother. I meant that word more dearly and truly than you have ever heard it said, and I would give every spark of my own Light to have him live disgraced rather than lie dead in the depths of the Moon!” Her voice rose to a shout as well as she pointed an angry finger at his face like a gun. “So know this: whatever pardon you receive or mercy you are granted, it was not begged in your name, or mine, or your sister’s. It was begged in my own brother’s name – in the name of Tel Kassa. And I would feed you inch by inch into Oryx’s maw to get him back.” 

Uldren peered at her from between the bars and then, with a jangle of chains, let out a laugh that sounded more natural and real than any other noise he’d made so far. Charlie waited it out, trapping her gaze in the dent around a bolt in the wall to keep her face from wavering. When his laughter had faded away, she looked up to meet his eye again. 

“Somehow you’re harder to hate when you snap like that. Funny.” He grinned. 

“What do you have in there without your hate, Uldren?” She crossed her arms in front of her as the grin slid from his face. Silence dragged on as the answer fought its way out of his mouth. 

“Guilt. A question.” 

“Why did you do it?” 

“Why did I do it?” 

He seemed for a moment like a boy, the defiance of his anger gone and the only thing left his fear as he stared at her and then past her at some imagined terror. They both knew the wrongness was there, pulling at the backs of their necks like raised hairs. 

“I can find an answer. You just have to give me time.” 

“Will this, too, be a gift courtesy of Tel Kassa?” He was back to his old sneer, but for a tiny moment his lip quivered and she knew she had reached something. 

“Yes. Remember his name, Uldren. From now on, everything you get you will owe to him. I’ll make sure of it.” 

Charlie shuddered with cold and with some other unknown feeling as she exited the prison. She felt as though she had even fewer answers than before, and so many more questions. Her one lead was cryptic and chilling, and she had the unhappy feeling that she would need to visit Petra's labs again before she could pursue it. With a sigh she turned her path toward the old elevator, but as she did, Spark flicked out of subspace and hovered in front of her, bringing her to a halt. 

"You need rest," it said, its voice wavering with worry. 

"Rest." For a moment she heard the same hollow ring in her voice as she had heard in Uldren's, and a moment of horrified clarity flashed across her mind. "You're right. I need rest. And I need –" She shook her head, trying to find the thought she'd had for one clear moment. "I need help. I need allies." As she turned toward home, she caught the words at the edge of her mind, almost beyond her awareness. She needed friends. 

\-- 

Once again the Queen found herself alone in her court. The small voices of her hearings echoed out into the vast space, and she imagined the sound waves bouncing around in the emptiness until they disappeared into the far, freezing reaches of the domed ceiling. She could have sworn each time she turned her head that she saw her advisors from the corners of her eyes. But of course not. 

She barely made it through the early hours of the afternoon, finally beckoning to a guard, who rushed to her side. 

"Fetch Petra. Cease these hearings until she has arrived." 

She let out an inaudible sigh of relief as the guard jogged off, resisting the urge to drag a hand down her face. Her court was in shambles, her family in ruins, her Charlie – the odd phrase almost made her laugh. Yes, her Charlie. Sick and sleepless, it seemed, from the way she had swayed at her post earlier in the day. Perhaps the wound, or her trip, or the unfamiliarity of her new housing had kept her up. 

Or perhaps she, too, was kept awake by the strange noises the Queen heard at night. Skittering and tapping in the walls, like many little feet running along the pipes. The groan of metal that shouldn't be shifting, or the creak of a door that wasn't opening. She found that even when she slept, she dreamt of the same noises, and of the shadows that caused them. Flickering like candlelight, curling like a wildfire. Faces taking shape and twisting away, almost forming and then – 

"Your Grace." Petra's voice pierced her thoughts and her eyes snapped into focus. There knelt her loyal Petra, shivering although it was not cold. 

"Today you advise me, my Paladin." Petra's look of joy was at least a moment of respite from her ill humor, though the Queen felt a twinge of irritation as Petra stepped into Charlie's spot. 

As the day dragged on, Petra's presence grated on her in a way she could not place. It made little sense; the Queen had trusted her as an advisor for quite some time, and trusted her judgment enough to have made her Paladin of the Royal Guard. But today something about her seemed off – perhaps in her voice, or in the flighty wave of her hand as she leaned over to whisper her piece. 

"Your Grace?" The court had come to a close, and Petra stood stiff and awkward next to her. Petra's constant awkwardness had an almost endearing quality to it, though lately the Queen had begun to compare it to Charlie's easy strength and find it lacking. 

"Yes. Thank you for your counsel today, my Paladin." She stumbled over her words as she rose, her mind far from the throne room or the childish desire for approval plastered all over Petra's face. She was one of the ones who would do anything without question; anything asked of her even unto death. She could not imagine Petra challenging her the way that Charlie had, not even for her own good. 

"Are you well, my queen?" Petra had moved a step closer and the Queen moved a step back in response. Something flashed in Petra's eyes, but then it was gone. 

"I am simply thinking." 

"Of what, my queen?" Petra took another step closer and the Queen flinched back again. The air around her seemed to be colder than the room. 

"Of Charlie. She was ill today. I am concerned for her health." The truth slipped out of her mouth as though something had compelled her to speak. 

Something dark spasmed across Petra's face, one infinitesimal moment in which her mouth twisted into a deep snarl and her brow furrowed in rage. Then it was gone, her only expression one of concern. The Queen remembered that Charlie and Petra had become friends of late, and decided she must have imagined whatever strange thing had just happened. It was the lack of sleep, and the shadows in her dreams. 

"I will be sure to check on her before I go home tonight, Your Grace. I did not know she had returned from her trip." 

"No need." Something made her snap, some stab of fear deep in her belly as though she had been threatened. She could not discern from where the feeling had come, and it passed just as quickly. "I am sure she is fine," she said, hurrying to cover her lapse. "Undoubtedly you and I both will see her tomorrow." 

"Yes, Your Grace." Petra's brow dipped further in confusion as she gave a shallow bow. 

"I do not require an escort back to my quarters. You are dismissed." 

"Yes, Your Grace." Petra bowed again and slipped out, glancing over her shoulder to stare for a moment as she reached the door. The Queen hardly noticed. 

She headed straight for Charlie's rooms, not even bothering to hide her intentions in the empty halls. She froze in front of the door and then with a sharp, almost reckless movement, reached out and rapped on the metal twice. 

She waited. And waited. After several minutes she raised her hand again and then stopped. Charlie was likely asleep, which she desperately needed. It would be childish to wake her just for her own satisfaction. 

She rapped again. And waited. And waited. When no answer came, she turned on her heel and stalked off, her face red. Not only was she childish, then, but also a fool. Perhaps to no one but herself, but still a fool. 

The cool air of the halls did nothing to ease her burning cheeks; if anything, she grew more embarrassed as she stewed in the silence. Here she was again, with her silly little attachment, feeling slighted somehow because Charlie had not come to the door. She had wished so much to have seen her again. 

She was well into the depths of the old Wolves tunnels before she realized where she had wandered to. Behind the main passageways, tucked away into the dark corners of the compound, were the service tunnels that had once been used by her Fallen servants. Now they were abandoned, the air vents sputtering past the buildup of the fine asteroid dust that escaped the filters. 

Everything back here was shadows, the old lights flickering and casting little light to see by. She did not know how she had ended up here, and she quickly turned and headed in the direction that she hoped would take her back out. Her footsteps did not make nearly as much noise as she thought they should. 

She quickened her step, glancing at the shadows on the walls as she passed. They seemed to writhe and reach for her, but each time she shook her head they stilled. It was a trick of the light, nothing more. 

But each imagined movement made her skin crawl and the hairs on the back of her neck raise. It felt as though there was surely something in the dark, as though the shadows were congregating behind her back and creeping toward her. She broke into a run, too frightened to worry for once about how it might appear. Her footsteps still made no sound on the metal floors. 

The Queen barreled around a corner and back into the bright light of the main hallways, the harrowing feeling of being followed slipping away but the heart-pounding fear remaining. She slowed to a pace just above a walk, her footsteps clacking in a panicked rhythm as she headed past her own rooms back to Charlie's door. Without hesitation she knocked several times, and barely managed to compose herself before the door slid open. 

"My queen?" She had never been happier to see Charlie, confused and half dressed in her armor, and the little Ghost bobbing above her shoulder. "My queen, are you alright?" 

"May I come in?" she asked, unable to keep her voice from trembling. Charlie stepped back immediately, waving a hand to beckon her in. The Queen headed straight for an armchair sitting in the corner of the room and nearly collapsed into it as the door closed behind them. Charlie followed and knelt by her side as she reached out a tentative hand, which hung between them for a moment until Charlie let it rest on the Queen's shoulder. The warmth was a comfort, and she felt her body begin to relax. 

"What's wrong? You look – you look awful." Charlie huffed an awkward laugh, as though she wasn't sure whether she was permitted to say such a thing. 

"There is something wrong. Something wrong here." She stared down at her fingers clenched in her lap. She was out of breath from her flight, or perhaps from the terror that still writhed in her chest. When she glanced up at Charlie, the woman had a solemn expression. 

"Yes, my queen. I feel it too." 

"The shadows." 

"Yes." 

She stared at Charlie as the crawling feeling returned. How long had she been ignorant? Writing the signs off as imagination and paranoia? 

"You must tell me the truth," she said, and Charlie nodded. She wanted to press, but when they were this close she could see the lines around Charlie's eyes and mouth, and the hazy look in her eye. "Tomorrow you must tell me everything you know. Tonight you must sleep." 

"Yes, my queen." She could see the relief on Charlie's face. She looked beyond exhausted. 

"Good." The Queen rose, still a little shaky, but as she began to leave she felt the fear sweep back in. She did not want to go back to her room to lay in the dark while foul things creeped around her. She hesitated by the door, long enough that Charlie came to stand by her with a worried frown. 

"If you feel unsafe in your own quarters –" Charlie trailed off, her gaze dropping to her feet. The pause hung loaded between them until Charlie cleared her throat and looked up again. "I can make my bed up with clean sheets for you, my queen. In case you would feel safer here." 

The Queen's heart felt as though it was flinging itself against her chest as she blinked in surprise. This was unconventional to say the least. Inappropriate, even. Unthinkable. Yet she had thought of it, as a wild daydream tossed away as soon as she came to her senses. 

"I don't wish to impose." She ought to just say yes, to say what she wanted, but the word tangled in her embarrassment – her damned shyness – and got lost. 

"It won't be any trouble. I'll just take a minute." 

"If you insist." 

Charlie bowed and bustled off, leaving the Queen to stand by the door with her arms folded in front of her and her heart racing. She was too nervous to even chastise herself for the happy, anxious feeling flitting about in her chest. 

When Charlie returned it was with an armful of blankets that she tossed on the couch before waving the Queen back into the bedroom. Even through her own nervousness she could see the blush that had crept up Charlie's cheeks, and somehow that both reassured her and made her all the more anxious. 

"Here it is," Charlie said as they entered the room. It was just the way the Queen had expected; spartan, with only a bed, a chair, and Charlie's few possessions sitting neatly on a dresser. Still, it felt warm and lived-in. A half open drawer and the turned up corner of the bed comforter was a reminder that Charlie, too, was human. "Light switch is here." She flipped it to demonstrate and chuckled when the Queen blinked and shook her head in surprise. "This is the bathroom – toilet, sink, shower if you need it. Uh, and –" She looked down at her feet, shuffling a little. "I figured you wouldn't want to sleep in your day clothes." 

She stepped over to the bed and picked up a small pile of clothing, just a neatly folded shirt and a pair of drawstring pants. The Queen took them without even realizing for a moment what they were for, and when she did she turned a bright red. 

"Yes. Thank you, this is more than adequate. I appreciate your efforts." She threw the formality up like a shield, unable to make eye contact. She almost regretted agreeing to stay. Almost. 

"If you need anything else, please let me know." Charlie smiled, wide and sincere, and the Queen could not help but smile back. 

"I will. Thank you, Charlie." They looked at each other for a moment before Charlie reached out again and put her hand on the Queen's shoulder. 

"I should sleep," she said, her eyes again betraying how tired she really was. The Queen raised her hand to cover Charlie's fingers with her own and squeeze gently. 

"You should. Rest well, my Emissary." 

"And you, my queen." 

Charlie closed the door behind her, leaving the Queen to undress in the quiet room. The clothes were soft, and when she lifted the collar to her nose she could smell Charlie's scent, which until now she had known only from a distance. It was a warm, clean scent like caramel and fresh linens, with a flowery hint she suspected came from the shampoo Charlie used. She took several deep breaths before her shame caught up with her and she dropped the shirt from her face. 

The bed was soft and warm as well, covered by a plush comforter that seemed to be one of Charlie's personal belongings. She nestled into the slight dent in the mattress where Charlie must settle each night and pressed her face into the pillow. It was almost more comfortable than her own bed. 

She reached out a hand to touch the empty space next to her and then rolled over with a huff, pushing away the thought that the bed would be warmer and safer with two. Instead she frowned, wondering what she would do when the morning came and she had to return to her own rooms without detection. But the bed was so soft and as she closed her eyes the problem seemed so far away, so trivial. 

That night the walls were silent, and her dreams were clear and bright.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> with the release of Destiny 2 (and soon its dlc), a few canon aspects have changed and updated in ways that i want to incorporate into my stories. charlie's story will remain separate from most of the canon events of the game and will not interact with the red war (at least in this fic). tel and scout, however, both have stories i'd love to tell, and both of them will play their part in the new events we've seen! i look forward to watching those stories play out and i hope all of you do too.


	16. (.5) Til Sunbeams Find You

"It's a little big, don't you think?"

Charlie stood with her hands on her hips in the middle of the new apartment. It was unbearably hot outside, and her shirt stuck to her back with sweat. The Queen waved a dismissive hand at her, nonetheless smiling.

"Once we get everything in it'll look smaller. And you wanted a dog, and we just want to be prepared for the future. In case of whatever. We don't know what we'll decide to do."

Charlie blushed a deep red, refusing to meet the Queen's eye. They'd always talked about what their families would be like someday, about the houses they'd live in right next to each other. But never about their house together, their family together.

"We should get stuff inside before the movers decide to just run off with all our things," the Queen said, moving toward the door and taking Charlie's hand as she walked past. Their shoulders brushed for a moment and Charlie felt the rush of contentment she always felt when they touched.

"They're not going to steal our stuff, Mara." The name slipped out by mistake, and Charlie's voice trailed into a whisper as she realized what she had said. But she was right; it was Mara Sov with whom she had sat in the kitchen organizing pots and pans, Mara who was curled up in her bed at home.

She had known the Queen's name, of course. It was part of the standard debrief, sitting so inconsequential at the top of her file. But she had never even imagined to say it. Certainly not so casually.

"I'm Petra." Petra's voice was sharp; a reprimand. Charlie looked over at her and blinked in surprise. Just a second ago she had been talking to - but that was impossible. There was Petra, of course, bundled up in winter layers as she should be. As she should be? It was freezing cold, and Charlie wondered why she was wearing a tank top.

"Right. Petra." She felt something sharp dig into her hand and when she looked down Petra's fingers were tapered into claws, pressing pinpoints into her skin as her grip tightened. Each time she tried to look closer it felt as though something dragged her vision away, up to Petra's face.

"You okay, sweetheart? Don't be nervous. This is what we wanted, right?" Petra's smile reminded Charlie of Uldren's smile in the fight with the Servitor; too tight, too sharp. Too dangerous.

"What we wanted. Right." Petra shimmered and fractured in front of her like a malfunctioning simulation. For a moment she had Mara's face, then Petra's, then a face Charlie did not recognize but that she desperately wished she could. "Hey, Mara?" She had already forgotten who she was supposed to be talking to, which face was the right face. It was so hot out that their palms pressed together had already gotten sweaty.

"Yes, my love?" said one voice, and Mara's face spread into a smile. "I'm Petra," snapped another voice, and Petra's face twisted into a snarl.

"You won't leave me, will you?"

"Never," said Mara's voice. "Never," said Petra's voice, even louder. The lights flickered. It was cold again.

"You can't trust her," Petra said, her features curling across the face. "She'll always be above you. You'll never reach her. She'll make promises and promises to keep you reaching but you never will." She lashed out and grabbed Charlie by the shirt, twisting her hands into the fabric. "Don't you understand, Charlie? You can't have her. You never will."

"No. She cares about me." Her words slurred as she fought a strange grogginess. With Petra this close, Charlie felt waves of nausea and dizziness wash over her. The wound in her shoulder sent a lance of pain up her neck.

"You're just a toy, Charlie. Some other Guardian will come along and she’ll lose interest like she always does. But not me, Charlie. I’ll stay with you. I’ll be what she can’t.”

“No. That’s not… no.” She shook her head, trying to clear it. She felt a spike of pain in her hand, and when she looked down Petra’s claws were tipped with blood. “Petra, this isn’t right. This can’t be what you want, not like this.”

“Then how else? No one has ever asked me what I want. You won’t even look at me! I have to take it or I won’t get anything!” Petra tugged on her hand, leaning even closer to Charlie with a wild look in her eye.

“That’s not how it works, Petra. You can’t do that.”

“I can do whatever I want! You can’t stop me, Her Grace can’t stop me – none of you have the power that I have! Uldren was a fool; he let that Knight cloud his judgment. But I won’t.”

“What Knight? What do you mean?” Charlie could tell somewhere in the back of her mind that she was dreaming, and it seemed that somehow she was talking to the real Petra. If there was even a chance that she could remember this when she woke, she had to get all the information she could.

“Sylok.” Petra said with a smug smile. “He has given me more power and knowledge than you can imagine. With it, I can do whatever I want and take whatever I want. I’ll no longer have to cower and grovel at the feet of a Queen who doesn’t even see me! I will be the Queen again, as I was when she failed us in the Taken War.”

“You really feel that way? About the Queen you’ve served for so long? I know you love her, Petra, or you did once.”

Something flashed across Petra’s face - first surprise, and something like regret; then a dark snarl.

"Whatever childish feelings I had then mean nothing now. I know better; I know she's not worth my attention anymore. But you, Charlie – you're different, you're special." Her face brightened into a maniacal expression of glee. "You could have the power that I have! You and I could rule with all the Darkness of a Taken champion, just like we deserve!"

"We could..." Charlie said, though she recoiled at the very thought. If she could just get close enough to Petra's plans to find this Sylok, she could destroy it.

"Yes! We can!" Even as Petra took her shoulders with a wide grin, she began to fade into wisps of smoke along with the dream-memory of the apartment around them. Charlie was left in utter darkness as the last of Petra's face curled away.

_Clever little child,_ came the voice from the dark. She recognized it now; it was the voice that had haunted so many of her other dreams, the voice that had chased her as far back as the very first nightmare.

_What do you want?_ She asked. Her voice came not from her mouth but from her Light, from a well within her that felt like her very self. The tiny voice made of Light left her and was engulfed by the Darkness almost immediately.

_You. This Reef. This system. This universe. Everything my father desired, I desire. Everything he failed to take, I will take. I will be the one to overcome the Light. But you can join me. You can become something new._

_Like Petra and Uldren became something new?_ Each time she spoke her Light felt as though it was growing dimmer and smaller. She tried to gasp in a shallow breath and found that she was paralyzed, trapped by the weight of the Darkness.

_NO,_ the voice boomed out, and Charlie felt her body try to flinch inside the paralysis. _You will become something so much greater, little one. You will have true power that only I can give you._

Charlie's mind raced for an answer. She had to keep this voice – which she was sure was Sylok – from becoming angry or suspicious, but she had no intention of giving in. She had to play Sylok's game the same way she needed to play Petra's.

_Show me,_ she said. Her vision was beginning to darken at the edges as the paralysis kept her from breathing. _Let me see your power in the real world. I'll come down to the Labs and you can show me._

Her frozen chest loosened and she instinctively gasped in a deep breath. Sylok chuckled.

_Good, little one. Good. I will show you, as you ask. Come to me and I will show you what you can have._ The Darkness withdrew from around her and she was left with a great tiredness that began to pull her back into unconsciousness. She didn't even have time to tell herself to remember everything before she had slipped away into dreamless sleep.


End file.
